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 Australia and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the 808 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 Gang of Four to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Louis and Bebe Barron. All the underground hits.
All The Cramps tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Yusef Lateef record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Hood,
Wolf Eyes,
B.T. Express,
Bobby Byrd,
Hasil Adkins,
Young Marble Giants,
Radiohead,
Radiopuhelimet,
Eve St. Jones,
The Sound,
Blancmange,
It's A Beautiful Day,
H. Thieme,
Eden Ahbez,
Massinfluence,
Altered Images,
Cybotron,
Rekid,
Tres Demented,
Brass Construction,
Matthew Halsall,
The J.B.'s,
F. McDonald,
The Index,
Slave,
the Soft Cell,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Negative Approach,
Eric Copeland,
Lakeside,
Cal Tjader,
The Pretty Things,
Michelle Simonal,
Chris Corsano,
Nik Kershaw,
Marc Almond,
The Motions,
Alice Coltrane,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Marine Girls,
Sex Pistols,
The Last Poets,
The Vogues,
The Remains,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Popol Vuh,
The Busters,
Sun Ra,
The Detroit Cobras,
Franke,
Los Fastidios,
Panda Bear,
Marmalade,
Fad Gadget,
Rosa Yemen,
Marvin Gaye,
Avey Tare,
The Toasters,
Mark Hollis,
This Heat,
Brand Nubian,
Saccharine Trust,
Slick Rick, Slick Rick, Slick Rick, Slick Rick.
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.