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 Sweden and from Sao Paulo.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Blackbyrds to the jazz 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 Fear. All the underground hits.
All Essential Logic tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eurythmics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nation of Ulysses record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Monks,
Desert Stars,
Idris Muhammad,
Public Enemy,
Thee Headcoats,
Soft Machine,
The Fire Engines,
The Gladiators,
Sonny Sharrock,
Bootsy Collins,
New York Dolls,
Todd Terry,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Excepter,
Tres Demented,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Gang Starr,
The Divine Comedy,
Mary Jane Girls,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Knickerbockers,
The Young Rascals,
Procol Harum,
Guru Guru,
Jimmy McGriff,
Sällskapet,
Ossler,
Wire,
The Real Kids,
Ronnie Foster,
The Buckinghams,
Cal Tjader,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Neil Young,
DJ Style,
Nik Kershaw,
Dennis Brown,
Franke,
Blossom Toes,
Fela Kuti,
Groovy Waters,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Donny Hathaway,
The Dead C,
Ken Boothe,
The Martian,
F. McDonald,
Qualms,
The Beau Brummels,
Arcadia,
The Count Five,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Sun Ra,
The Sound,
Lalann,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Lee Hazlewood,
Mr. Review,
Scratch Acid,
Minny Pops, Minny Pops, Minny Pops, Minny Pops.
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.