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 Fiji and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Winnipeg.
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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
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 Cluster to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Sugar Minott tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every T. Rex record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wally Richardson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Surgeon,
Gabor Szabo,
Marc Almond,
Danielle Patucci,
Das Ding,
Groovy Waters,
Kaleidoscope,
Anthony Braxton,
Minor Threat,
Jimmy McGriff,
Lee Hazlewood,
Derrick Morgan,
Black Sheep,
Pussy Galore,
The Searchers,
Alison Limerick,
FM Einheit,
The Dave Clark Five,
Animal Collective,
The American Breed,
Chrome,
Derrick May,
Carl Craig,
Pet Shop Boys,
Can,
Bootsy Collins,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Sexual Harrassment,
Flamin' Groovies,
Qualms,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Connie Case,
Roxy Music,
Monolake,
Isaac Hayes,
DJ Sneak,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Bush Tetras,
The Mojo Men,
Michelle Simonal,
the Bar-Kays,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Pretty Things,
Nik Kershaw,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Wire,
Porter Ricks,
Jacob Miller,
KRS-One,
Visage,
Todd Terry,
New Age Steppers,
Index,
Underground Resistance,
The Wake,
The Blues Magoos,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich.
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.