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 Libya and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Calgary.
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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Ultramagnetic MC's to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Barclay James Harvest. All the underground hits.
All Steve Hackett tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Radio Birdman,
Shuggie Otis,
Bill Wells,
Laurel Aitken,
Johnny Osbourne,
Soulsonic Force,
Al Stewart,
Archie Shepp,
Albert Ayler,
Sällskapet,
The Litter,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Con Funk Shun,
K-Klass,
Circle Jerks,
The Golliwogs,
Sam Rivers,
Warren Ellis,
Sister Nancy,
X-101,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Angels of Light,
Skriet,
Slave,
Minny Pops,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Siglo XX,
Lebanon Hanover,
In Retrospect,
Alice Coltrane,
Chris & Cosey,
B.T. Express,
Lower 48,
Audionom,
The Young Rascals,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Five Americans,
DJ Sneak,
Porter Ricks,
Kerri Chandler,
Crash Course in Science,
Altered Images,
Surgeon,
E-Dancer,
Bush Tetras,
Brass Construction,
Q65,
Peter & Gordon,
Tim Buckley,
Lou Christie,
Depeche Mode,
The Names,
Groovy Waters,
Bobby Byrd,
Robert Wyatt,
Peter and Kerry,
Nick Fraelich,
Outsiders,
Todd Rundgren,
James White and The Blacks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Girls At Our Best!,
Television,
Yusef Lateef, Yusef Lateef, Yusef Lateef, Yusef Lateef.
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.