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 Niger and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1965 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Wally Richardson to the jazz 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 Rufus Thomas. All the underground hits.
All Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Derrick Morgan 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Divine Comedy,
Soul Sonic Force,
F. McDonald,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
T. Rex,
X-Ray Spex,
Derrick May,
Thee Headcoats,
Soulsonic Force,
Hashim,
Fear,
Sixth Finger,
Radio Birdman,
The Leaves,
Lindisfarne,
Glenn Branca,
Talk Talk,
Patti Smith,
Bad Manners,
Sly & The Family Stone,
CMW,
Agent Orange,
Outsiders,
Little Man,
Gregory Isaacs,
Black Flag,
Banda Bassotti,
Cluster,
The Buckinghams,
The Cowsills,
Scrapy,
Metal Thangz,
Funkadelic,
Groovy Waters,
Blancmange,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Jeff Mills,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Tomorrow,
Pagans,
Altered Images,
Model 500,
Ultimate Spinach,
Gang Gang Dance,
Ludus,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Marcia Griffiths,
John Cale,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Frankie Knuckles,
Byron Stingily,
Half Japanese,
Dennis Brown,
Porter Ricks,
Mantronix,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Nirvana,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Judy Mowatt,
The Beau Brummels,
Animal Collective, Animal Collective, Animal Collective, Animal Collective.
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.