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 Sudan and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 808 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 Ajijia Myrayebe to the disco kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Ohio Players. All the underground hits.
All The Shadows of Knight tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Girls At Our Best! record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gerry Rafferty record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spoonie Gee,
Slick Rick,
Excepter,
Howard Jones,
H. Thieme,
Alice Coltrane,
Anthony Braxton,
The Mojo Men,
Sandy B,
The Monks,
Model 500,
Bronski Beat,
L. Decosne,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Silicon Teens,
Deakin,
Stetsasonic,
Cybotron,
the Germs,
Clear Light,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Al Stewart,
Soft Cell,
Piero Umiliani,
Ice-T,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Bobby Womack,
Oblivians,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Jawbox,
B.T. Express,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Jeru the Damaja,
the Soft Cell,
Bobby Byrd,
AZ,
The Move,
Boogie Down Productions,
One Last Wish,
The Fall,
Graham Central Station,
Shoche,
Minny Pops,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Fuzztones,
Nick Fraelich,
Mr. Review,
Monks,
The Gories,
Nik Kershaw,
Isaac Hayes,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Electric Prunes,
Gang Gang Dance,
Con Funk Shun,
Jacob Miller,
Boredoms,
Kurtis Blow,
Pussy Galore,
Leonard Cohen,
PIL,
Icehouse,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.