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 Comoros and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 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 Excepter to the grime 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 The Monochrome Set. All the underground hits.
All T. Rex tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every June Days 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a synthesizer 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 organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Andrew Hill,
Ultra Naté,
The Last Poets,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Dennis Brown,
Brick,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Parry Music,
Hot Snakes,
Ten City,
Scientists,
Ultravox,
Camberwell Now,
Radio Birdman,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
K-Klass,
The Dead C,
The Flesh Eaters,
Metal Thangz,
Blancmange,
Supertramp,
One Last Wish,
The Names,
Monolake,
Jeff Mills,
The Sound,
Scratch Acid,
Alphaville,
David McCallum,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Mojo Men,
Spoonie Gee,
June Days,
Kenny Larkin,
Marcia Griffiths,
KRS-One,
Lucky Dragons,
Moebius,
Pylon,
Dawn Penn,
AZ,
Quadrant,
R.M.O.,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Blake Baxter,
Stiv Bators,
Masters at Work,
Skaos,
The Detroit Cobras,
Lalann,
Juan Atkins,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Whodini,
ABBA,
Toni Rubio,
Lightning Bolt,
Peter and Kerry,
Lebanon Hanover,
Minnie Riperton,
B.T. Express,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Maleditus Sound, Maleditus Sound, Maleditus Sound, Maleditus Sound.
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.