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 Grenada and from Paris.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Delhi.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Dolphy to the electroclash 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 Todd Terry. All the underground hits.
All Barbara Tucker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Fania All-Stars 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Spandau Ballet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scan 7,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Saints,
Stiv Bators,
Funkadelic,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Unrelated Segments,
FM Einheit,
Maleditus Sound,
Chrome,
Derrick Morgan,
Nirvana,
Camouflage,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Marc Almond,
Sun City Girls,
Skriet,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Swans,
The Cowsills,
Swell Maps,
Mission of Burma,
Essential Logic,
Duran Duran,
Rosa Yemen,
Agent Orange,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Grauzone,
Fela Kuti,
Al Stewart,
Popol Vuh,
EPMD,
Dave Gahan,
Alice Coltrane,
Y Pants,
Roger Hodgson,
Eli Mardock,
Max Romeo,
Siglo XX,
The Human League,
The Last Poets,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Gang of Four,
Sexual Harrassment,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Sonic Youth,
Moby Grape,
Johnny Clarke,
Icehouse,
Crispian St. Peters,
Jesper Dahlback,
Smog,
The Vogues,
New Age Steppers,
Kas Product,
Visage,
The Walker Brothers,
the Bar-Kays,
The Slackers,
Bauhaus,
Bizarre Inc.,
Monks,
Soul II Soul,
Nas, Nas, Nas, Nas.
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.