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 Tunisia and from Philadelphia.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Woodstock.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Kango’s Stein Massive to the grunge 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 Half Japanese. All the underground hits.
All Barclay James Harvest tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wally Richardson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
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 Soul II Soul record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barbara Tucker,
Byron Stingily,
Stockholm Monsters,
LL Cool J,
The Durutti Column,
Gabor Szabo,
The Dave Clark Five,
John Foxx,
Easy Going,
Piero Umiliani,
New York Dolls,
the Swans,
the Human League,
DJ Sneak,
Mark Hollis,
Dual Sessions,
Vladislav Delay,
Oblivians,
The Searchers,
Popol Vuh,
Minnie Riperton,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The J.B.'s,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Thompson Twins,
Groovy Waters,
Harpers Bizarre,
Liliput,
Brand Nubian,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Seeds,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Five Americans,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Gerry Rafferty,
John Coltrane,
Talk Talk,
EPMD,
Ludus,
Bush Tetras,
Ultravox,
Massinfluence,
Zapp,
The Remains,
Trumans Water,
The Fall,
Sonny Sharrock,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Boredoms,
Grauzone,
Audionom,
The Human League,
Sight & Sound,
L. Decosne,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Blossom Toes,
Eric Copeland,
The Monochrome Set,
Heaven 17,
Flamin' Groovies,
Dark Day,
Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya.
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.