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 Morocco and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Houston.
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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the marimba 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 Derrick May to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Moss Icon. All the underground hits.
All Eric Dolphy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James White and The Blacks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harpers Bizarre record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
June of 44,
Rotary Connection,
The Wake,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Alarm Clocks,
Derrick May,
Curtis Mayfield,
Sound Behaviour,
James White and The Blacks,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Byron Stingily,
Funkadelic,
Subhumans,
The Searchers,
The Kinks,
Scott Walker,
Stockholm Monsters,
Mr. Review,
Can,
Cal Tjader,
Connie Case,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Bizarre Inc.,
Aloha Tigers,
Goldenarms,
Franke,
The Names,
Cluster,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Amon Düül II,
Cecil Taylor,
Hasil Adkins,
David McCallum,
The American Breed,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Bobby Womack,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Schoolly D,
Technova,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Sonny Sharrock,
kango's stein massive,
Moebius,
Henry Cow,
Warren Ellis,
Bob Dylan,
The Smoke,
Black Sheep,
Iggy Pop,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Half Japanese,
Panda Bear,
Sparks,
Delon & Dalcan,
Sonic Youth,
The Selecter,
Thompson Twins,
Desert Stars,
Flash Fearless,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters.
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.