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 Libya and from Tokyo.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Paris.
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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Porter Ricks to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Magma. All the underground hits.
All Pantytec tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Quando Quango record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 an arpeggiator and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Red Lorry Yellow Lorry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eddi Front,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Dennis Brown,
Althea and Donna,
The New Christs,
Scion,
Fluxion,
Hoover,
Brand Nubian,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Crime,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Cecil Taylor,
Rosa Yemen,
Minny Pops,
Nick Fraelich,
The Slackers,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Scientists,
The Flesh Eaters,
Drive Like Jehu,
Mad Mike,
Gang Gang Dance,
Can,
Blake Baxter,
Gang of Four,
The United States of America,
The Gun Club,
Eric Copeland,
The Young Rascals,
Pharoah Sanders,
Jacques Brel,
Ten City,
Robert Wyatt,
Godley & Creme,
Jeru the Damaja,
Lucky Dragons,
Wally Richardson,
Severed Heads,
Minor Threat,
The Smoke,
Q65,
Blancmange,
Soft Cell,
Inner City,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Camberwell Now,
Carl Craig,
Black Moon,
Motorama,
LL Cool J,
Tres Demented,
Metal Thangz,
Nico,
Max Romeo,
Harpers Bizarre,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
the Human League,
Warren Ellis,
Maurizio,
New York Dolls,
Bobby Womack,
Whodini,
Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs.
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.