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 Ukraine and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Chris Corsano to the rap 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 Pagans. All the underground hits.
All Angels of Light & Akron/Family tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Toni Rubio record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Zapp,
Cecil Taylor,
R.M.O.,
The Gun Club,
Cheater Slicks,
Dawn Penn,
Nico,
Bizarre Inc.,
Morten Harket,
Hardrive,
Mary Jane Girls,
Quando Quango,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
ABC,
Neil Young,
Deakin,
Mars,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Adolescents,
Intrusion,
The Fall,
The Blackbyrds,
Thee Headcoats,
Iggy Pop,
The Last Poets,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Surgeon,
The United States of America,
MDC,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Flamin' Groovies,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Theoretical Girls,
Throbbing Gristle,
Fluxion,
Magazine,
The Moody Blues,
The Moleskins,
Max Romeo,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Bob Dylan,
Sonny Sharrock,
Radio Birdman,
Pussy Galore,
Bush Tetras,
Mission of Burma,
DJ Sneak,
The Red Krayola,
Dennis Brown,
Jesper Dahlback,
T.S.O.L.,
The Velvet Underground,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Procol Harum,
Niagra,
Barclay James Harvest,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sugar Minott,
Jacques Brel,
The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang.
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.