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 Kazakhstan and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 marimba 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 Bobbi Humphrey to the punk 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 Popol Vuh. All the underground hits.
All The Divine Comedy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Vladislav Delay record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Trojans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sparks,
Severed Heads,
Rapeman,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Grass Roots,
Banda Bassotti,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Saccharine Trust,
Lou Christie,
Pharoah Sanders,
June Days,
Quadrant,
Black Bananas,
Section 25,
cv313,
Arab on Radar,
Duran Duran,
Cluster,
Ponytail,
8 Eyed Spy,
Bobby Womack,
Archie Shepp,
DJ Sneak,
Flash Fearless,
Jawbox,
MC5,
Buzzcocks,
Stereo Dub,
Letta Mbulu,
the Normal,
Kerri Chandler,
Simply Red,
MDC,
Jacob Miller,
Jandek,
Goldenarms,
Urselle,
The Modern Lovers,
The Gun Club,
Girls At Our Best!,
FM Einheit,
New Age Steppers,
Moebius,
June of 44,
Anthony Braxton,
Dorothy Ashby,
Boz Scaggs,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Selecter,
Monolake,
Reagan Youth,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Brothers Johnson,
Lungfish,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Maurizio,
John Holt,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Birthday Party,
The Neon Judgement,
Maleditus Sound,
Pussy Galore,
Anakelly,
Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock.
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.