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 Libya and from Seoul.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Woodstock.
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 mellotron 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 Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Slits. All the underground hits.
All Curtis Mayfield tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Flag record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crime 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?
T. Rex,
The Dead C,
Groovy Waters,
Circle Jerks,
Easy Going,
The Seeds,
The Flesh Eaters,
Newcleus,
Leonard Cohen,
Nils Olav,
Angry Samoans,
Silicon Teens,
Oneida,
Eve St. Jones,
The Buckinghams,
Little Man,
Roy Ayers,
Schoolly D,
The Electric Prunes,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Martian,
Frankie Knuckles,
John Holt,
Tom Boy,
Cluster,
James Chance & The Contortions,
La Düsseldorf,
Swell Maps,
Idris Muhammad,
Neil Young,
Slick Rick,
Bootsy Collins,
cv313,
Reuben Wilson,
Public Enemy,
The Gap Band,
Shoche,
The Black Dice,
The Offenders,
Buzzcocks,
Television,
The Sound,
ABC,
One Last Wish,
Half Japanese,
Fatback Band,
Gang Green,
Glambeats Corp.,
James White and The Blacks,
Duran Duran,
Rekid,
Rosa Yemen,
Sam Rivers,
Sly & The Family Stone,
John Foxx,
Nico,
A Certain Ratio,
Inner City,
Pierre Henry,
Ralphi Rosario,
the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell.
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.