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 Barbados and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the oboe 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 Last Poets to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Lee Hazlewood. All the underground hits.
All Rapeman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lalann record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Selecter,
Little Man,
The Fortunes,
Arab on Radar,
Groovy Waters,
The Dead C,
Cymande,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Star Department,
Matthew Bourne,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Aural Exciters,
Michelle Simonal,
The Birthday Party,
The Gap Band,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Wolf Eyes,
Siglo XX,
The Neon Judgement,
Grey Daturas,
The Flesh Eaters,
John Holt,
The Young Rascals,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Fire Engines,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Drexciya,
Cluster,
Sarah Menescal,
Camouflage,
John Coltrane,
Make Up,
Sonic Youth,
Rakim,
Byron Stingily,
Shuggie Otis,
Rites of Spring,
Underground Resistance,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Monks,
Magma,
The Busters,
The Zeros,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Colin Newman,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Eurythmics,
Youth Brigade,
UT,
Arthur Verocai,
The Buckinghams,
Zero Boys,
Donald Byrd,
New Age Steppers,
The Searchers,
Accadde A,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Toni Rubio,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Public Image Ltd., Public Image Ltd., Public Image Ltd., Public Image Ltd..
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.