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 Gabon and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in 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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar 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 Wally Richardson to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Slick Rick. All the underground hits.
All Be Bop Deluxe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pretty Things record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cecil Taylor,
The Searchers,
Subhumans,
Rosa Yemen,
Kenny Larkin,
Black Bananas,
The Count Five,
Black Pus,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Harmonia,
Roxy Music,
Lower 48,
Lalann,
Dorothy Ashby,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
D'Angelo,
The Real Kids,
Andrew Hill,
Mandrill,
The Divine Comedy,
Rotary Connection,
the Association,
The Offenders,
Minny Pops,
Marvin Gaye,
Patti Smith,
Connie Case,
Sarah Menescal,
Thompson Twins,
Eve St. Jones,
The Stooges,
Dawn Penn,
Masters at Work,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Glambeats Corp.,
Hasil Adkins,
B.T. Express,
The Moleskins,
Howard Jones,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Panda Bear,
John Foxx,
Monks,
Symarip,
The Happenings,
Spandau Ballet,
Theoretical Girls,
Royal Trux,
UT,
Chrome,
Camberwell Now,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Matthew Halsall,
Quando Quango,
Swans,
Organ,
Glenn Branca,
10cc,
Crash Course in Science,
The Fortunes,
48th St. Collective,
Angry Samoans,
a-ha, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha.
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.