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 Barbados and from Manila.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 David Bowie 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 Eric B and Rakim to the disco kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Underground Resistance. All the underground hits.
All The Wake tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sly & The Family Stone record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 linndrum and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
The Blues Magoos,
The Wake,
Mo-Dettes,
The Blackbyrds,
Con Funk Shun,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Ronnie Foster,
Alphaville,
The Monks,
Black Pus,
The New Christs,
Lindisfarne,
Don Cherry,
Lebanon Hanover,
Skaos,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Barracudas,
Ultravox,
The Pretty Things,
Gerry Rafferty,
Marmalade,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Subhumans,
Groovy Waters,
8 Eyed Spy,
Technova,
X-101,
The Smiths,
The Sonics,
Eddi Front,
Scan 7,
Archie Shepp,
48th St. Collective,
The Young Rascals,
The Alarm Clocks,
Liliput,
Lucky Dragons,
Magazine,
Mr. Review,
Chris Corsano,
Public Image Ltd.,
Grey Daturas,
The Real Kids,
Josef K,
Eve St. Jones,
Das Ding,
Drive Like Jehu,
Pulsallama,
Bobby Sherman,
MDC,
Clear Light,
Colin Newman,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Kevin Saunderson,
Letta Mbulu,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Doors,
Masters at Work,
Severed Heads,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Big Daddy Kane,
Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy.
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.