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 Bahamas and from Taipei.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Cecil Taylor to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Accadde A. All the underground hits.
All David Axelrod tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brass Construction record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stetsasonic,
Eddi Front,
Royal Trux,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Victims,
Cybotron,
Lower 48,
The Angels of Light,
Tres Demented,
Roxy Music,
Roy Ayers,
Cecil Taylor,
Joy Division,
Tears for Fears,
Tom Boy,
Motorama,
June Days,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Hashim,
Niagra,
Accadde A,
The Mojo Men,
The Busters,
Supertramp,
Eli Mardock,
Whodini,
Radiopuhelimet,
Todd Rundgren,
Scan 7,
Howard Jones,
Radio Birdman,
Bill Near,
Nas,
Make Up,
Amon Düül,
Lalann,
Bronski Beat,
Marvin Gaye,
R.M.O.,
Hot Snakes,
Ronan,
Prince Buster,
Desert Stars,
Gabor Szabo,
Rekid,
Warren Ellis,
Bauhaus,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Soulsonic Force,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Chrome,
Crispy Ambulance,
Hoover,
Derrick May,
Excepter,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Television Personalities,
Kas Product,
The Blues Magoos,
Dark Day,
B.T. Express, B.T. Express, B.T. Express, B.T. Express.
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.