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 Saudi Arabia and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Faraquet to the rock 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 Fifty Foot Hose. All the underground hits.
All Adolescents tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sunsets and Hearts record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 linndrum and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Idris Muhammad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Associates,
The Buckinghams,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
David McCallum,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Fatback Band,
Wolf Eyes,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Don Cherry,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Drive Like Jehu,
Suicide,
Harry Pussy,
Derrick May,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Radio Birdman,
Gang of Four,
Robert Görl,
Sun City Girls,
The Moody Blues,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Animal Collective,
the Fania All-Stars,
Bill Near,
Mantronix,
Jacques Brel,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Mr. Review,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Colin Newman,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Susan Cadogan,
The Saints,
Roxy Music,
Tim Buckley,
Technova,
Ten City,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Toasters,
Kool Moe Dee,
D'Angelo,
Grauzone,
AZ,
Iggy Pop,
Public Image Ltd.,
the Human League,
Peter and Kerry,
Hasil Adkins,
John Foxx,
Gang Green,
Brand Nubian,
Arcadia,
Hardrive,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Danielle Patucci,
Suburban Knight,
Laurel Aitken,
Bauhaus,
Carl Craig,
The Monks,
Agent Orange,
The American Breed,
Theoretical Girls,
The New Christs,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.