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 Bahamas and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in 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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Los Fastidios to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Marshall Jefferson. All the underground hits.
All Young Marble Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slick Rick 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bush Tetras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Organ,
Yellowson,
Neu!,
Judy Mowatt,
Babytalk,
Faust,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Aural Exciters,
Eric B and Rakim,
Fat Boys,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Carl Craig,
H. Thieme,
Freddie Wadling,
Andrew Hill,
Depeche Mode,
Bad Manners,
Crooked Eye,
Joyce Sims,
The Mojo Men,
John Coltrane,
Ten City,
Robert Hood,
The Red Krayola,
Sixth Finger,
Funky Four + One,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Gong,
The Cowsills,
Chris Corsano,
Idris Muhammad,
Joe Finger,
Alphaville,
Trumans Water,
DNA,
The Knickerbockers,
Icehouse,
Toni Rubio,
Godley & Creme,
Don Cherry,
the Association,
Make Up,
Mission of Burma,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Flipper,
Echospace,
Soulsonic Force,
Kurtis Blow,
Henry Cow,
The Cramps,
Roy Ayers,
Mr. Review,
The Electric Prunes,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Monochrome Set,
Jeff Lynne,
Yazoo,
cv313,
Angry Samoans,
Rites of Spring,
Faraquet,
Royal Trux,
Scion,
The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks.
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.