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 Micronesia and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the snare 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 The Dirtbombs to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Move. All the underground hits.
All Tropical Tobacco tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cramps record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 an organ and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Matthew Halsall record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Womack,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Names,
Charles Mingus,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Depeche Mode,
the Soft Cell,
Massinfluence,
John Coltrane,
EPMD,
Ornette Coleman,
Funky Four + One,
Alison Limerick,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Sandy B,
The Techniques,
Peter and Kerry,
The Cure,
Graham Central Station,
Tommy Roe,
Jeff Mills,
the Sonics,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Spoonie Gee,
Second Layer,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Pretty Things,
Y Pants,
Jacques Brel,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Gastr Del Sol,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Robert Wyatt,
Tomorrow,
Q65,
PIL,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Carl Craig,
Kevin Saunderson,
Gil Scott Heron,
Harry Pussy,
Intrusion,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Idris Muhammad,
Pantaleimon,
Rufus Thomas,
Stetsasonic,
Connie Case,
Drexciya,
Sight & Sound,
Brass Construction,
Andrew Hill,
Johnny Clarke,
Lalann,
Avey Tare,
Chris Corsano,
LL Cool J,
Blancmange,
The Cramps,
Public Enemy, Public Enemy, Public Enemy, Public Enemy.
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.