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 Congo and from Bologna.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gabor Szabo to the funk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Ohio Players. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Beasts of Bourbon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Toasters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blossom Toes,
Anakelly,
Urselle,
Rakim,
Joey Negro,
Oneida,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Lebanon Hanover,
Robert Görl,
Gabor Szabo,
Big Daddy Kane,
Technova,
The Evens,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Franke,
Soul Sonic Force,
Donny Hathaway,
Underground Resistance,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Alice Coltrane,
Crispy Ambulance,
the Bar-Kays,
Essential Logic,
Television Personalities,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Brick,
Faraquet,
Radiohead,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Smiths,
Radio Birdman,
Marcia Griffiths,
Buzzcocks,
Organ,
DJ Style,
Hardrive,
Idris Muhammad,
Terrestrial Tones,
ABC,
Yusef Lateef,
Jandek,
Joy Division,
Nico,
Lou Christie,
The Skatalites,
The Modern Lovers,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Fugazi,
Harmonia,
Wings,
Al Stewart,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Maurizio,
Slick Rick,
The Grass Roots,
Scan 7,
Supertramp,
X-102,
Josef K,
DNA,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Severed Heads, Severed Heads, Severed Heads, Severed Heads.
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.