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 Namibia and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the snare 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 N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell to the punk 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 Rakim. All the underground hits.
All De La Soul & Jungle Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Johnny Clarke 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Unwound,
A Certain Ratio,
The Five Americans,
Crispian St. Peters,
Ituana,
Crash Course in Science,
Outsiders,
Morten Harket,
Black Flag,
Minnie Riperton,
Excepter,
Malaria!,
The Beau Brummels,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Yazoo,
Skaos,
Fugazi,
Eddi Front,
Schoolly D,
Sandy B,
CMW,
K-Klass,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Freddie Wadling,
Deakin,
Angry Samoans,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Con Funk Shun,
Davy DMX,
Swell Maps,
Vainqueur,
The Techniques,
Man Parrish,
Joey Negro,
Jerry's Kids,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Names,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Quantec,
Minny Pops,
The Seeds,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Skarface,
Babytalk,
B.T. Express,
Make Up,
Cecil Taylor,
Maleditus Sound,
Nick Fraelich,
Pulsallama,
Qualms,
DNA,
Slick Rick,
Joyce Sims,
Barrington Levy,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Lungfish,
The Music Machine,
The Monochrome Set,
Ronnie Foster,
Adolescents,
Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail.
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.