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 Honduras and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Piero Umiliani to the dance kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Golliwogs. All the underground hits.
All Parry Music tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Vainqueur record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 chamberlin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dead C record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roger Hodgson,
The Selecter,
Glambeats Corp.,
Sam Rivers,
The Vogues,
Bobby Womack,
Con Funk Shun,
Kevin Saunderson,
Make Up,
Mission of Burma,
Connie Case,
Flipper,
Robert Görl,
John Holt,
The Offenders,
Smog,
Cecil Taylor,
Curtis Mayfield,
Brass Construction,
Fluxion,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Rufus Thomas,
Gerry Rafferty,
Toni Rubio,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Happenings,
Lindisfarne,
Gastr Del Sol,
David McCallum,
Soft Machine,
Prince Buster,
The Last Poets,
a-ha,
Gang Starr,
Whodini,
10cc,
Underground Resistance,
Stockholm Monsters,
Roxette,
Das Ding,
John Lydon,
Kurtis Blow,
Spoonie Gee,
Swell Maps,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Todd Rundgren,
Mandrill,
Eurythmics,
Niagra,
Slave,
Magma,
Sister Nancy,
Scientists,
Donald Byrd,
Animal Collective,
Pet Shop Boys,
Moss Icon,
Wasted Youth,
Susan Cadogan,
Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith, Lonnie Liston Smith.
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.