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 Paraguay and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 rhodes 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 American Breed to the grime kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Pere Ubu. All the underground hits.
All Flipper tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Justin Hinds & The Dominoes 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pole,
Deepchord,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Scientists,
Deadbeat,
The Raincoats,
Pierre Henry,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Gladiators,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Eurythmics,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Angry Samoans,
Matthew Halsall,
The Mummies,
Josef K,
Audionom,
FM Einheit,
Aloha Tigers,
Pylon,
Theoretical Girls,
Fela Kuti,
Newcleus,
KRS-One,
June of 44,
Bronski Beat,
Pussy Galore,
Suburban Knight,
Sex Pistols,
James White and The Blacks,
The Busters,
The Evens,
The Stooges,
Alton Ellis,
Model 500,
Mantronix,
Marine Girls,
Iggy Pop,
Pharoah Sanders,
Crooked Eye,
the Soft Cell,
Bobby Byrd,
A Certain Ratio,
Flamin' Groovies,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
New Age Steppers,
Drive Like Jehu,
World's Most,
Soulsonic Force,
Parry Music,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Names,
The J.B.'s,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Sugar Minott,
the Fania All-Stars,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Roxy Music,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Bill Wells, Bill Wells, Bill Wells, Bill Wells.
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.