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 Ecuador and from Lagos.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Tokyo.
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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Royal Family And The Poor to the electroclash 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 Qualms. All the underground hits.
All Fatback Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aloha Tigers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Motions,
Ronan,
The Smoke,
Schoolly D,
The Barracudas,
Barclay James Harvest,
Interpol,
Letta Mbulu,
Barrington Levy,
Toni Rubio,
Panda Bear,
The Last Poets,
Minor Threat,
Juan Atkins,
Dawn Penn,
Accadde A,
Thee Headcoats,
The Kinks,
Sonny Sharrock,
Lower 48,
Moby Grape,
UT,
Jandek,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Bootsy Collins,
Pagans,
Lalann,
Todd Rundgren,
Harpers Bizarre,
Soul Sonic Force,
Au Pairs,
June Days,
Marshall Jefferson,
Stetsasonic,
Colin Newman,
Eden Ahbez,
Roxy Music,
Black Moon,
Max Romeo,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Moleskins,
Kenny Larkin,
The Dave Clark Five,
John Cale,
Big Daddy Kane,
Crime,
Jeff Mills,
Kayak,
Chris Corsano,
Skarface,
Make Up,
Aswad,
Marc Almond,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Eddi Front,
Tubeway Army,
The Wake,
Byron Stingily,
Black Sheep,
Michelle Simonal,
Joey Negro, Joey Negro, Joey Negro, Joey Negro.
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.