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 Bolivia and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 güiro 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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Sunsets and Hearts. All the underground hits.
All The Last Poets tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Liliput record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fortunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cramps,
Shoche,
These Immortal Souls,
Siglo XX,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Sound,
Steve Hackett,
The Vogues,
Eric Dolphy,
Saccharine Trust,
The Golliwogs,
The Flesh Eaters,
Ultravox,
Bill Wells,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Jeru the Damaja,
Spandau Ballet,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Black Pus,
Kool Moe Dee,
Delta 5,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sound Behaviour,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Toni Rubio,
New Order,
48th St. Collective,
Wally Richardson,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Second Layer,
Drexciya,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Sonics,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Stetsasonic,
the Slits,
T.S.O.L.,
Television Personalities,
Bronski Beat,
Au Pairs,
Pantaleimon,
U.S. Maple,
The Cure,
Blossom Toes,
The Fuzztones,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Moebius,
Eurythmics,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Sight & Sound,
Terrestrial Tones,
Eddi Front,
the Normal,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sister Nancy,
Mandrill,
Wasted Youth,
Cluster, Cluster, Cluster, Cluster.
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.