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 Venezuela and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Fania All-Stars to the rock 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 Visage. All the underground hits.
All John Holt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minnie Riperton record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mad Mike,
The Detroit Cobras,
Angry Samoans,
Q and Not U,
Maurizio,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Doobie Brothers,
A Certain Ratio,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Porter Ricks,
Hoover,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The United States of America,
Black Flag,
Hot Snakes,
World's Most,
Yaz,
The Young Rascals,
Swell Maps,
Gang of Four,
Stetsasonic,
The American Breed,
Soulsonic Force,
Sarah Menescal,
Zapp,
Radio Birdman,
The Shadows of Knight,
Banda Bassotti,
Kenny Larkin,
DJ Sneak,
Blossom Toes,
Rakim,
Roger Hodgson,
The Moleskins,
Arthur Verocai,
New Age Steppers,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Chris & Cosey,
H. Thieme,
Absolute Body Control,
Ponytail,
Sun City Girls,
Deakin,
Roy Ayers,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
China Crisis,
Essential Logic,
Nik Kershaw,
Suicide,
Crime,
PIL,
Black Sheep,
Ituana,
Tomorrow,
Rotary Connection,
Kaleidoscope,
Guru Guru,
Minny Pops,
Donny Hathaway,
Byron Stingily,
Country Teasers, Country Teasers, Country Teasers, Country Teasers.
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.