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 Papua New Guinea and from Seoul.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Sam Rivers to the grime kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Surgeon. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fatback Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Banda Bassotti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Yusef Lateef,
Ice-T,
Colin Newman,
Vladislav Delay,
Rites of Spring,
Sister Nancy,
The Saints,
The Black Dice,
The Slackers,
Bobby Byrd,
K-Klass,
Toni Rubio,
Crime,
Nik Kershaw,
Television,
The Birthday Party,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Tears for Fears,
Television Personalities,
Malaria!,
Silicon Teens,
Severed Heads,
Sex Pistols,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Amazonics,
The Gun Club,
Cameo,
Nico,
Arcadia,
The Star Department,
Lightning Bolt,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Marshall Jefferson,
Tom Boy,
Roy Ayers,
Erasure,
The Smiths,
Fort Wilson Riot,
X-102,
Dead Boys,
Radiopuhelimet,
Banda Bassotti,
Marine Girls,
Wire,
Jesper Dahlback,
R.M.O.,
Eurythmics,
Eddi Front,
June Days,
Ituana,
Laurel Aitken,
Robert Hood,
John Cale,
the Normal,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Mojo Men,
Godley & Creme,
Dorothy Ashby,
Procol Harum,
B.T. Express,
Second Layer,
Siglo XX,
Khruangbin, Khruangbin, Khruangbin, Khruangbin.
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.