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 Turkmenistan and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the 808 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the disco 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 Bobbi Humphrey. All the underground hits.
All Electric Light Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joy Division record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 an organ and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Desert Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Inner City,
Interpol,
Section 25,
Marine Girls,
B.T. Express,
Frankie Knuckles,
Lebanon Hanover,
Black Sheep,
Masters at Work,
Steve Hackett,
The Cramps,
The Associates,
Harmonia,
X-101,
Ludus,
The Shadows of Knight,
T.S.O.L.,
Dark Day,
The Tremeloes,
MDC,
Popol Vuh,
Maurizio,
The Fire Engines,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bad Manners,
Albert Ayler,
Wings,
Altered Images,
Kaleidoscope,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Fuzztones,
Judy Mowatt,
Sight & Sound,
The Cure,
Depeche Mode,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Qualms,
Alton Ellis,
John Foxx,
Dorothy Ashby,
June of 44,
Ronan,
the Normal,
Sun City Girls,
48th St. Collective,
Sam Rivers,
Black Flag,
These Immortal Souls,
Lindisfarne,
Man Parrish,
Delon & Dalcan,
Clear Light,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Main Source,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Todd Terry,
Avey Tare,
Arcadia,
Supertramp,
Letta Mbulu,
Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell.
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.