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 Sierra Leone and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the sitar 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 Jerry Gold Smith to the funk 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 David Axelrod. All the underground hits.
All Mark Hollis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacob Miller 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Simply Red record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sandy B,
Supertramp,
Tears for Fears,
Thompson Twins,
The Moleskins,
Chris & Cosey,
Roy Ayers,
AZ,
Franke,
Scratch Acid,
Flipper,
Ponytail,
Jerry's Kids,
Fugazi,
Soul Sonic Force,
Robert Wyatt,
Glenn Branca,
New Order,
The Remains,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Index,
Livin' Joy,
Kayak,
The Seeds,
Gang of Four,
Funkadelic,
Mr. Review,
Bill Near,
The J.B.'s,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Pretty Things,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Angels of Light,
The Star Department,
June of 44,
Deepchord,
Harry Pussy,
B.T. Express,
The Detroit Cobras,
Fatback Band,
Nas,
Intrusion,
Lakeside,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Neil Young,
Rakim,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Quantec,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
The New Christs,
Jacob Miller,
Outsiders,
Vladislav Delay,
The Beau Brummels,
Ronan,
Talk Talk,
KRS-One,
Funky Four + One,
The Invisible,
Stereo Dub,
Interpol,
Saccharine Trust,
Girls At Our Best!, Girls At Our Best!, Girls At Our Best!, Girls At Our Best!.
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.