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 Congo and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Madrid.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the theremin 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 Suburban Knight to the crunk 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 The Electric Prunes. All the underground hits.
All the Fania All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Buckinghams record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fatback Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Animal Collective,
Gang Starr,
Danielle Patucci,
Sonny Sharrock,
Delta 5,
Neil Young,
Bush Tetras,
Crash Course in Science,
Minny Pops,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Joy Division,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Skatalites,
Crispian St. Peters,
Banda Bassotti,
Bluetip,
Flamin' Groovies,
Arab on Radar,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Model 500,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Simply Red,
Youth Brigade,
Joe Smooth,
The Blackbyrds,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Faraquet,
X-102,
Make Up,
Hashim,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Oneida,
The Neon Judgement,
Wasted Youth,
Thompson Twins,
Sparks,
Boz Scaggs,
Derrick Morgan,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Rapeman,
EPMD,
Aswad,
Alison Limerick,
The Fall,
ABBA,
Derrick May,
Sun City Girls,
Popol Vuh,
The Divine Comedy,
Robert Hood,
Boredoms,
Lalo Schifrin,
ABC,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Sound,
Sexual Harrassment,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Spoonie Gee,
Qualms,
Rosa Yemen,
Gong,
The Residents,
The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers.
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.