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 Azerbaijan and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Bootsy Collins to the crunk 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 Jeff Mills. All the underground hits.
All Cheater Slicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sam Rivers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Yellowson,
June Days,
Prince Buster,
Inner City,
Little Man,
Fat Boys,
Avey Tare,
Marc Almond,
Crime,
Jeff Lynne,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Smoke,
Pulsallama,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Young Rascals,
The Blackbyrds,
Procol Harum,
The Angels of Light,
Darondo,
Ronan,
Harpers Bizarre,
World's Most,
Albert Ayler,
Liliput,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Monks,
Dual Sessions,
Mo-Dettes,
Brothers Johnson,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The American Breed,
Alison Limerick,
Scan 7,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Hashim,
Eurythmics,
the Association,
The Index,
Stockholm Monsters,
Toni Rubio,
UT,
Ronnie Foster,
The Shadows of Knight,
Jandek,
Harry Pussy,
Alton Ellis,
Soft Cell,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Sister Nancy,
The Grass Roots,
The Gladiators,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Robert Wyatt,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Section 25,
Nirvana,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Warren Ellis,
Hardrive,
Pharoah Sanders,
E-Dancer,
Banda Bassotti,
The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks.
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.