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 Burkina and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar 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 Arcadia to the crunk 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 Radio Birdman. All the underground hits.
All Intrusion tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Green,
Laurel Aitken,
Unwound,
Charles Mingus,
Magazine,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Anakelly,
Glambeats Corp.,
Soul Sonic Force,
Basic Channel,
Alison Limerick,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
La Düsseldorf,
Index,
ABBA,
Connie Case,
Minutemen,
John Holt,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Jeru the Damaja,
Scott Walker,
Blossom Toes,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Eli Mardock,
Skarface,
Newcleus,
Stereo Dub,
Thee Headcoats,
Lou Christie,
Frankie Knuckles,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
cv313,
the Soft Cell,
Cluster,
The Alarm Clocks,
Tears for Fears,
Excepter,
K-Klass,
Kerrie Biddell,
Anthony Braxton,
Black Sheep,
a-ha,
Dual Sessions,
Can,
Boz Scaggs,
The Vogues,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Kas Product,
Jacques Brel,
FM Einheit,
Robert Hood,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Soft Machine,
Man Eating Sloth,
Loose Ends,
The Kinks,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Half Japanese,
The Doors,
Lindisfarne, Lindisfarne, Lindisfarne, Lindisfarne.
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.