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 South Africa and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 spring reverb 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 Todd Terry to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Gap Band. All the underground hits.
All Popol Vuh tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eric Dolphy,
The Move,
China Crisis,
The Walker Brothers,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Thompson Twins,
Radio Birdman,
Wally Richardson,
Duran Duran,
Funkadelic,
Mary Jane Girls,
Isaac Hayes,
The Misunderstood,
Magazine,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Skarface,
Graham Central Station,
Absolute Body Control,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Cheater Slicks,
Y Pants,
Bobby Womack,
Make Up,
David Bowie,
Erykah Badu,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Crooked Eye,
Lyres,
Bill Wells,
Desert Stars,
Swans,
Tres Demented,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Fad Gadget,
Fatback Band,
Patti Smith,
Dawn Penn,
Sonny Sharrock,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Josef K,
Rufus Thomas,
Porter Ricks,
Angry Samoans,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Liliput,
This Heat,
Black Pus,
The Buckinghams,
Visage,
Flash Fearless,
Spandau Ballet,
Pole,
Tears for Fears,
Ken Boothe,
Au Pairs,
Albert Ayler,
Model 500,
Cybotron,
Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage.
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.