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 Lesotho and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 The Raincoats to the grime kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Henry Cow. All the underground hits.
All Gichy Dan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Kinks 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fatback Band,
Alison Limerick,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Terry Callier,
Pere Ubu,
The Skatalites,
Desert Stars,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Dark Day,
Groovy Waters,
The Mojo Men,
Don Cherry,
Supertramp,
Sun Ra,
Bobby Byrd,
The Fire Engines,
Marvin Gaye,
Sexual Harrassment,
Porter Ricks,
Oblivians,
The Toasters,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Boredoms,
The Divine Comedy,
Arthur Verocai,
La Düsseldorf,
Agitation Free,
Kas Product,
Suicide,
Judy Mowatt,
Soulsonic Force,
Marc Almond,
Absolute Body Control,
Gerry Rafferty,
Panda Bear,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Inner City,
Yazoo,
Gang of Four,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Flamin' Groovies,
Pussy Galore,
Kayak,
Bill Wells,
Main Source,
The Velvet Underground,
Skarface,
Blossom Toes,
Graham Central Station,
Youth Brigade,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Blues Magoos,
These Immortal Souls,
Buzzcocks,
Television,
the Soft Cell,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Loose Ends,
The Mummies,
Mo-Dettes,
Khruangbin,
Ken Boothe,
Black Sheep,
Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants.
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.