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 Samoa and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Bobby Womack to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Barclay James Harvest. All the underground hits.
All Popol Vuh tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Desert Stars record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Detroit Cobras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mojo Men,
Theoretical Girls,
The Saints,
The Young Rascals,
Harry Pussy,
Neu!,
The Slackers,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Radiohead,
Jerry's Kids,
Traffic Nightmare,
Swell Maps,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Alison Limerick,
Lakeside,
The Fall,
a-ha,
Vladislav Delay,
Banda Bassotti,
The Martian,
John Foxx,
New Age Steppers,
The Red Krayola,
cv313,
The Pop Group,
The Sound,
Boz Scaggs,
The Doors,
Eve St. Jones,
Arab on Radar,
Heaven 17,
Excepter,
Zero Boys,
Organ,
Lungfish,
The Gories,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Bronski Beat,
Khruangbin,
Wolf Eyes,
David Bowie,
AZ,
Crispy Ambulance,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
The Remains,
Funkadelic,
The Selecter,
Moebius,
Mark Hollis,
Alton Ellis,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Slick Rick,
Index,
Procol Harum,
Dark Day,
Vainqueur,
Frankie Knuckles,
Magazine, Magazine, Magazine, Magazine.
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.