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 Portugal and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Parry Music to the funk 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 Boz Scaggs. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soft Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marvin Gaye record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Swans,
Rufus Thomas,
Joyce Sims,
Camouflage,
Oblivians,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Happenings,
Index,
Desert Stars,
Sex Pistols,
Negative Approach,
Tres Demented,
Babytalk,
Gerry Rafferty,
Camberwell Now,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Aswad,
Porter Ricks,
Johnny Clarke,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Joe Finger,
Deakin,
48th St. Collective,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Tremeloes,
Khruangbin,
Althea and Donna,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Gang Starr,
Black Bananas,
Amazonics,
Wasted Youth,
Mission of Burma,
Man Parrish,
Kaleidoscope,
New Order,
Donny Hathaway,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Hot Snakes,
Boredoms,
Marcia Griffiths,
Jacob Miller,
Gong,
Minny Pops,
Cecil Taylor,
In Retrospect,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Nik Kershaw,
Stetsasonic,
Bobby Womack,
The Blackbyrds,
Liliput,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Pretty Things,
The J.B.'s,
X-102,
Young Marble Giants,
Suburban Knight,
The Beau Brummels, The Beau Brummels, The Beau Brummels, The Beau Brummels.
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.