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 Afghanistan and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Yellowson 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 Roy Ayers Ubiquity. All the underground hits.
All Quantec tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Johnny Osbourne 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Chris Corsano record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Maleditus Sound,
Rufus Thomas,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Gerry Rafferty,
Eric B and Rakim,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Simply Red,
T. Rex,
Banda Bassotti,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Livin' Joy,
Howard Jones,
The Motions,
Tears for Fears,
Gastr Del Sol,
Bluetip,
Barry Ungar,
The American Breed,
Fugazi,
Barclay James Harvest,
Interpol,
Brothers Johnson,
The Gladiators,
Niagra,
John Foxx,
the Normal,
Magazine,
David Axelrod,
Thee Headcoats,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Siglo XX,
Frankie Knuckles,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Echospace,
Scrapy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Rosa Yemen,
John Coltrane,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Pylon,
Todd Terry,
Lindisfarne,
Freddie Wadling,
Soft Cell,
The Moody Blues,
Masters at Work,
Gichy Dan,
Eve St. Jones,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Theoretical Girls,
Iggy Pop,
Ultra Naté,
Gregory Isaacs,
These Immortal Souls,
The J.B.'s,
Eli Mardock,
Sight & Sound,
Lungfish,
Jerry's Kids,
Bizarre Inc.,
Blancmange,
Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army.
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.