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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Milan.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the güiro 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 Roy Ayers to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Yusef Lateef. All the underground hits.
All Charles Mingus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nils Olav 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grey Daturas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Cramps,
Mars,
Black Bananas,
Mark Hollis,
Kerrie Biddell,
Silicon Teens,
Buzzcocks,
Joensuu 1685,
Josef K,
Aaron Thompson,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Sparks,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Audionom,
Davy DMX,
Masters at Work,
Curtis Mayfield,
Thee Headcoats,
Quadrant,
Alice Coltrane,
Reagan Youth,
Gil Scott Heron,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Tim Buckley,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Circle Jerks,
Mr. Review,
The Velvet Underground,
Wasted Youth,
Fat Boys,
The New Christs,
Cameo,
Robert Hood,
The Victims,
Tom Boy,
Frankie Knuckles,
Ronan,
Mary Jane Girls,
Joey Negro,
Bluetip,
Kevin Saunderson,
Hasil Adkins,
Gabor Szabo,
Faraquet,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Schoolly D,
David Axelrod,
Groovy Waters,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Robert Görl,
Anthony Braxton,
Joe Finger,
Alton Ellis,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Cecil Taylor,
Dark Day,
Rapeman,
Popol Vuh,
Nik Kershaw, Nik Kershaw, Nik Kershaw, Nik Kershaw.
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.