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 Philippines and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 The Five Americans 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 Kings Of Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All Inner City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sun Ra 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Charles Mingus,
John Lydon,
The Selecter,
Gil Scott Heron,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Young Rascals,
Dead Boys,
Jimmy McGriff,
the Fania All-Stars,
Guru Guru,
The Seeds,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Duran Duran,
Reagan Youth,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Con Funk Shun,
The Monochrome Set,
The Last Poets,
Pagans,
The Standells,
Dennis Brown,
The Skatalites,
Albert Ayler,
Niagra,
Joe Smooth,
Sugar Minott,
The Knickerbockers,
The Pretty Things,
Bobby Womack,
R.M.O.,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Soulsonic Force,
Nirvana,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Second Layer,
Mission of Burma,
Wally Richardson,
B.T. Express,
Basic Channel,
ABC,
The Monks,
kango's stein massive,
Shuggie Otis,
Radiopuhelimet,
Moby Grape,
Ornette Coleman,
Skarface,
Aloha Tigers,
The Leaves,
L. Decosne,
Von Mondo,
The Move,
Magazine,
Agent Orange,
Letta Mbulu,
Sister Nancy,
Matthew Bourne,
Kayak,
Ronnie Foster,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Jacob Miller,
The Moody Blues,
Ituana, Ituana, Ituana, Ituana.
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.