Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Poland and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Bill Near to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Con Funk Shun. All the underground hits.
All Royal Trux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Curtis Mayfield record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Misunderstood,
Pussy Galore,
The Selecter,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sonny Sharrock,
Amon Düül,
Marcia Griffiths,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Kenny Larkin,
Byron Stingily,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Soul Sonic Force,
Pantaleimon,
Bobby Womack,
New Age Steppers,
Yellowson,
Mission of Burma,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Nils Olav,
Supertramp,
Suburban Knight,
Depeche Mode,
OOIOO,
Second Layer,
Suicide,
Desert Stars,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Spoonie Gee,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Hashim,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Eric Copeland,
Juan Atkins,
Ultravox,
Anakelly,
The Cramps,
Mantronix,
World's Most,
Ohio Players,
Jacques Brel,
MDC,
Bush Tetras,
The Trojans,
Derrick May,
Urselle,
Sexual Harrassment,
Carl Craig,
Agent Orange,
Blake Baxter,
Outsiders,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Young Rascals,
Babytalk,
The Fortunes,
Mandrill,
Gregory Isaacs,
Qualms,
Terrestrial Tones,
John Holt,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
A Certain Ratio,
Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.