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 Dominica and from Lyon.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 guitar 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 Zeros to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Boz Scaggs. All the underground hits.
All The Detroit Cobras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
10cc,
Gang of Four,
Boogie Down Productions,
Inner City,
Cluster,
The Mummies,
Stereo Dub,
Roxy Music,
Man Parrish,
KRS-One,
The Dirtbombs,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sam Rivers,
Davy DMX,
Max Romeo,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Stooges,
Dennis Brown,
Sugar Minott,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Pole,
Ohio Players,
Little Man,
Procol Harum,
Crispy Ambulance,
Hot Snakes,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Pulsallama,
Depeche Mode,
The Saints,
Brand Nubian,
48th St. Collective,
Al Stewart,
Y Pants,
Minutemen,
Kevin Saunderson,
Q and Not U,
Jacques Brel,
Yazoo,
Traffic Nightmare,
Mars,
Susan Cadogan,
Severed Heads,
Rakim,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Heaven 17,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Angels of Light,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Rosa Yemen,
Colin Newman,
Pere Ubu,
Spandau Ballet,
Make Up,
Joey Negro,
Bauhaus,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Toasters,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Neon Judgement,
Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion.
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.