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 India and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Kings Of Tomorrow to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Matthew Halsall. All the underground hits.
All Manfred Mann's Earth Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Durutti Column 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Searchers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Groovy Waters,
Boz Scaggs,
Gerry Rafferty,
Royal Trux,
Scott Walker,
Gastr Del Sol,
Jeff Lynne,
Eurythmics,
Bob Dylan,
Yusef Lateef,
Max Romeo,
Skarface,
The Blues Magoos,
Avey Tare,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Anakelly,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Marcia Griffiths,
Liliput,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
the Bar-Kays,
Arab on Radar,
Boogie Down Productions,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Sugar Minott,
Donny Hathaway,
The Wake,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
X-Ray Spex,
Hashim,
Marshall Jefferson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
K-Klass,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Dead C,
Minutemen,
Bootsy Collins,
Isaac Hayes,
Supertramp,
Thompson Twins,
The Beau Brummels,
Brass Construction,
Eric B and Rakim,
Toni Rubio,
Gang Starr,
The Count Five,
Connie Case,
Siglo XX,
Warsaw,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Fela Kuti,
Judy Mowatt,
Todd Rundgren,
The Slackers,
Rapeman,
Rekid,
F. McDonald,
Eden Ahbez,
ABBA,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Cluster,
In Retrospect, In Retrospect, In Retrospect, In Retrospect.
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.