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 Guyana and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 marimba 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 Deakin to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Gang Starr. All the underground hits.
All MC5 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Drexciya record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a synthesizer and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fat Boys,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Marc Almond,
The Five Americans,
Panda Bear,
Eurythmics,
the Sonics,
The Slits,
Joyce Sims,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Toni Rubio,
Faraquet,
The Neon Judgement,
8 Eyed Spy,
The J.B.'s,
Rosa Yemen,
Tim Buckley,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Mo-Dettes,
Ludus,
Idris Muhammad,
Sixth Finger,
Grey Daturas,
The Birthday Party,
The Gories,
Rakim,
The Pop Group,
Index,
The Angels of Light,
The Cramps,
The Offenders,
The Red Krayola,
D'Angelo,
Anthony Braxton,
Khruangbin,
Kenny Larkin,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Roxy Music,
Sister Nancy,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The New Christs,
Pole,
Minnie Riperton,
The American Breed,
The Moody Blues,
Magma,
Section 25,
Ronnie Foster,
Essential Logic,
Gang Starr,
Lou Christie,
Flipper,
H. Thieme,
Aswad,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bobby Womack,
Tom Boy,
Spandau Ballet,
Electric Light Orchestra,
T. Rex,
Yazoo,
Echo & the Bunnymen, Echo & the Bunnymen, Echo & the Bunnymen, Echo & the Bunnymen.
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.