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 Croatia and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Fire Engines to the disco 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 Gastr Del Sol. All the underground hits.
All Roy Ayers Ubiquity tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Theoretical Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Anakelly record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Birthday Party,
Buzzcocks,
Deakin,
La Düsseldorf,
X-Ray Spex,
Unwound,
Pole,
Max Romeo,
Rosa Yemen,
Yazoo,
Bobby Byrd,
The Victims,
Scion,
Colin Newman,
Popol Vuh,
The Misunderstood,
the Fania All-Stars,
Au Pairs,
Zapp,
The Young Rascals,
Suicide,
Delta 5,
Alison Limerick,
The Leaves,
Joe Finger,
Kayak,
Sunsets and Hearts,
John Lydon,
Guru Guru,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Khruangbin,
the Germs,
The Last Poets,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Ludus,
Roxy Music,
Malaria!,
Blake Baxter,
D'Angelo,
Throbbing Gristle,
Supertramp,
Terry Callier,
Mars,
Lou Christie,
Nirvana,
Susan Cadogan,
The Moody Blues,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Smog,
the Swans,
Interpol,
Stetsasonic,
cv313,
Vladislav Delay,
These Immortal Souls,
Howard Jones,
Sugar Minott,
Idris Muhammad,
Henry Cow,
Nils Olav, Nils Olav, Nils Olav, Nils Olav.
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.