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 Syria and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 snare 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 Sugar Minott to the rap 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 Suicide. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aural Exciters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 linndrum and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lou Christie record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Moon,
Joyce Sims,
Unrelated Segments,
The Moody Blues,
48th St. Collective,
New Age Steppers,
Yaz,
Con Funk Shun,
Sister Nancy,
The Young Rascals,
Slave,
Sam Rivers,
Sugar Minott,
Harry Pussy,
The Searchers,
The Golliwogs,
Robert Hood,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Minutemen,
Lou Reed,
Rakim,
Crooked Eye,
Tommy Roe,
Mary Jane Girls,
Rufus Thomas,
Babytalk,
Newcleus,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Cure,
Television Personalities,
The Human League,
Johnny Clarke,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Harpers Bizarre,
Jawbox,
Alton Ellis,
Whodini,
Vladislav Delay,
Alison Limerick,
Inner City,
The Durutti Column,
Wire,
Jeff Mills,
Animal Collective,
Pierre Henry,
Tres Demented,
the Swans,
Erykah Badu,
Brick,
Jeru the Damaja,
Mad Mike,
The Smoke,
New Order,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Young Marble Giants,
Kurtis Blow,
Surgeon,
Big Daddy Kane,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Al Stewart,
Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters.
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.