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 Armenia and from Salvador.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 The Standells to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All Harry Pussy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moebius 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five 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?
Scott Walker,
Depeche Mode,
H. Thieme,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Aural Exciters,
Swell Maps,
Faraquet,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Shadows of Knight,
Clear Light,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Ice-T,
Audionom,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Young Rascals,
Eric B and Rakim,
Max Romeo,
Lucky Dragons,
Monolake,
Johnny Osbourne,
Vainqueur,
Rhythm & Sound,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Lalo Schifrin,
Chris Corsano,
Flipper,
UT,
World's Most,
Tom Boy,
Gabor Szabo,
Los Fastidios,
Masters at Work,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Moss Icon,
The Cowsills,
Alice Coltrane,
Inner City,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Offenders,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Cramps,
Stockholm Monsters,
Gang Green,
8 Eyed Spy,
Average White Band,
Camberwell Now,
Tubeway Army,
Yusef Lateef,
Unrelated Segments,
Barbara Tucker,
Liliput,
The Alarm Clocks,
Au Pairs,
Mad Mike,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
John Coltrane,
Smog,
Albert Ayler,
Harry Pussy,
Juan Atkins,
Technova,
Ronan,
The Happenings, The Happenings, The Happenings, The Happenings.
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.