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 Korea North and from Columbus.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Von Mondo to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Spoonie Gee. All the underground hits.
All The Barracudas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James White and The Blacks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Robert Wyatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Residents,
The Red Krayola,
The Slits,
Main Source,
Roy Ayers,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Susan Cadogan,
Drexciya,
Scrapy,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Durutti Column,
Matthew Halsall,
The Stooges,
Kurtis Blow,
Dennis Brown,
Joyce Sims,
Black Pus,
Kevin Saunderson,
Toni Rubio,
Amon Düül II,
Donny Hathaway,
Little Man,
Jerry's Kids,
The Doobie Brothers,
Big Daddy Kane,
Gang of Four,
Can,
Dorothy Ashby,
Slick Rick,
Yazoo,
Outsiders,
Archie Shepp,
D'Angelo,
Harpers Bizarre,
Groovy Waters,
Y Pants,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Skatalites,
Rufus Thomas,
Faraquet,
Dawn Penn,
The Dirtbombs,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Mars,
The Cure,
These Immortal Souls,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Al Stewart,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Urselle,
Skaos,
Skriet,
ABC,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
UT,
The Evens,
Mantronix,
Hashim,
Quando Quango,
Franke,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.