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 Burkina and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Marvin Gaye to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The American Breed. All the underground hits.
All Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sixth Finger record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sly & The Family Stone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Todd Terry,
Juan Atkins,
Scott Walker,
The Golliwogs,
Eric B and Rakim,
Porter Ricks,
Donny Hathaway,
Lou Reed,
MDC,
The Cowsills,
Qualms,
Cymande,
The Modern Lovers,
Man Parrish,
Gang Gang Dance,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Schoolly D,
The Remains,
Youth Brigade,
Outsiders,
The American Breed,
Maurizio,
Lou Christie,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Lungfish,
The Offenders,
Michelle Simonal,
Vainqueur,
Hashim,
Ohio Players,
Jeff Lynne,
The Walker Brothers,
Jandek,
A Certain Ratio,
Leonard Cohen,
Gil Scott Heron,
Gichy Dan,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Oblivians,
Rites of Spring,
Unrelated Segments,
Laurel Aitken,
Marvin Gaye,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Sound,
Warren Ellis,
Half Japanese,
Crime,
T.S.O.L.,
Minor Threat,
Joensuu 1685,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Young Rascals,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Wake,
John Cale,
The Martian,
cv313,
Bill Wells,
Bush Tetras,
Eden Ahbez,
The Saints,
The Evens, The Evens, The Evens, The Evens.
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.