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 Iraq and from Columbus.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Piero Umiliani to the grunge 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 Lindisfarne. All the underground hits.
All Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Flamin' Groovies record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Yusef Lateef,
Nation of Ulysses,
Average White Band,
Tim Buckley,
Mr. Review,
Visage,
Rod Modell,
Terry Callier,
The Names,
Pussy Galore,
Rufus Thomas,
Mad Mike,
The Alarm Clocks,
Black Sheep,
Cymande,
Minutemen,
The Martian,
MDC,
Dave Gahan,
Dark Day,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Misunderstood,
FM Einheit,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Detroit Cobras,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Kinks,
X-Ray Spex,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Evens,
Blake Baxter,
Suicide,
Sam Rivers,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Ultravox,
Mary Jane Girls,
Lightning Bolt,
Stetsasonic,
The Selecter,
Bobby Sherman,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Moebius,
Sonny Sharrock,
Niagra,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Buzzcocks,
Sixth Finger,
Althea and Donna,
Brick,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Grauzone,
Skarface,
Jeff Lynne,
Scion,
The Dave Clark Five,
Black Moon,
Marvin Gaye,
Accadde A,
Anakelly,
Dennis Brown,
8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy.
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.