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 Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 rhodes 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 Techniques to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Agitation Free. All the underground hits.
All Ronnie Foster 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 funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joey Negro record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Traffic Nightmare,
Bobby Womack,
The Gladiators,
The Angels of Light,
Bronski Beat,
Skaos,
The Techniques,
This Heat,
Altered Images,
Dave Gahan,
Porter Ricks,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
David Bowie,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Dead C,
Trumans Water,
Thee Headcoats,
Q65,
The Beau Brummels,
Magazine,
Moby Grape,
Michelle Simonal,
Nick Fraelich,
Rekid,
Drive Like Jehu,
One Last Wish,
The J.B.'s,
Oneida,
Roy Ayers,
Prince Buster,
Tom Boy,
Curtis Mayfield,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Oblivians,
The Wake,
Sight & Sound,
The Fugs,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Ultimate Spinach,
Pere Ubu,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Echospace,
Kevin Saunderson,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Hardrive,
Main Source,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Al Stewart,
Japan,
Junior Murvin,
Barrington Levy,
Eric Dolphy,
New Age Steppers,
Freddie Wadling,
China Crisis,
Ponytail,
Man Parrish,
Faust,
Minnie Riperton,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Music Machine,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Vainqueur, Vainqueur, Vainqueur, Vainqueur.
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.