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 Peru and from Accra.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Eric Copeland to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Sunsets and Hearts. All the underground hits.
All Barry Ungar tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 an organ and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terrestrial Tones 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?
Pylon,
Flipper,
Judy Mowatt,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Soft Machine,
David Bowie,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Outsiders,
The Gap Band,
Smog,
Crash Course in Science,
B.T. Express,
the Slits,
R.M.O.,
the Fania All-Stars,
Sixth Finger,
D'Angelo,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Monks,
Oblivians,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Roger Hodgson,
Jimmy McGriff,
Sex Pistols,
The Raincoats,
The Saints,
Black Moon,
The Knickerbockers,
F. McDonald,
Moby Grape,
Harry Pussy,
Byron Stingily,
Bauhaus,
Erykah Badu,
Iggy Pop,
the Bar-Kays,
Rites of Spring,
Niagra,
Lebanon Hanover,
Camouflage,
Sound Behaviour,
Porter Ricks,
Bobby Womack,
Agent Orange,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Roxy Music,
Barbara Tucker,
Lou Reed,
KRS-One,
K-Klass,
Siglo XX,
Man Parrish,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Eric Dolphy,
Warsaw,
Max Romeo,
Deakin,
Theoretical Girls,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Minny Pops, Minny Pops, Minny Pops, Minny Pops.
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.