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 Andorra and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in 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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Letta Mbulu to the rock 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 Kenny Larkin. All the underground hits.
All Mary Jane Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Niagra record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Thee Headcoats,
Jimmy McGriff,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Minnie Riperton,
Soulsonic Force,
Oneida,
Sällskapet,
James White and The Blacks,
Piero Umiliani,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Monks,
The Fortunes,
Warsaw,
Pylon,
The Misunderstood,
Livin' Joy,
The Beau Brummels,
Max Romeo,
Jeru the Damaja,
Slave,
Brothers Johnson,
Boz Scaggs,
Bobby Hutcherson,
John Lydon,
DJ Sneak,
Masters at Work,
Tim Buckley,
Faust,
Todd Terry,
Henry Cow,
Tubeway Army,
Magma,
Shuggie Otis,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Subhumans,
the Germs,
Funkadelic,
The Selecter,
The Fuzztones,
Dorothy Ashby,
Stetsasonic,
Sister Nancy,
Hot Snakes,
John Coltrane,
Gang of Four,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Birthday Party,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Basic Channel,
T. Rex,
Bronski Beat,
Dark Day,
Lakeside,
Eli Mardock,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Pole,
Jeff Mills,
Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig.
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.