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 Madagascar and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 sitar 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx to the funk 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 The Misunderstood. All the underground hits.
All Cheater Slicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Maleditus Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Grass Roots record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Durutti Column,
Ituana,
The Alarm Clocks,
Marine Girls,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
H. Thieme,
Audionom,
Cal Tjader,
Black Moon,
Chris Corsano,
Warsaw,
Quadrant,
The Residents,
Underground Resistance,
Cymande,
Model 500,
Kayak,
Sandy B,
Wings,
Dark Day,
Oblivians,
Connie Case,
Smog,
Fat Boys,
Lyres,
Amon Düül II,
L. Decosne,
Yellowson,
Porter Ricks,
X-101,
Lucky Dragons,
Rotary Connection,
Todd Rundgren,
Scratch Acid,
Siglo XX,
June Days,
Matthew Halsall,
Metal Thangz,
Tears for Fears,
Aaron Thompson,
Yazoo,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Moss Icon,
Ken Boothe,
Panda Bear,
Barbara Tucker,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Blues Magoos,
OOIOO,
The Golliwogs,
Hashim,
Parry Music,
Pylon,
Curtis Mayfield,
Severed Heads,
Carl Craig,
The Vogues,
Kerri Chandler,
Albert Ayler,
Arcadia,
Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson.
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.