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 Botswana and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the rhodes 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 A Certain Ratio to the rap 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 Rapeman. All the underground hits.
All Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Skriet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a a-ha record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Radiohead,
Cymande,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Martian,
Crispy Ambulance,
Infiniti,
The J.B.'s,
Albert Ayler,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Modern Lovers,
Moebius,
the Association,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Metal Thangz,
David McCallum,
The Doobie Brothers,
Drexciya,
Sonic Youth,
Porter Ricks,
Niagra,
Moss Icon,
Hardrive,
Jeru the Damaja,
Schoolly D,
Fatback Band,
Interpol,
Suburban Knight,
The Dead C,
The Gladiators,
Cheater Slicks,
Piero Umiliani,
Pantaleimon,
E-Dancer,
Essential Logic,
KRS-One,
Crime,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Electric Prunes,
Gichy Dan,
The Offenders,
R.M.O.,
Excepter,
Chris & Cosey,
Eric B and Rakim,
Audionom,
Cybotron,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Barbara Tucker,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Dorothy Ashby,
Man Parrish,
Bobby Womack,
The Pop Group,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Neil Young,
Leonard Cohen,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Dennis Brown,
Tropical Tobacco,
Pantytec,
Swell Maps,
The Slackers,
The Fuzztones,
Robert Hood, Robert Hood, Robert Hood, Robert Hood.
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.