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 Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 David Bowie 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 Theoretical Girls to the disco 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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. All the underground hits.
All Marine Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Prince Buster record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Drexciya record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
KRS-One,
Stiv Bators,
The Durutti Column,
World's Most,
Rod Modell,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Fall,
L. Decosne,
ABC,
Sonny Sharrock,
Boredoms,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Velvet Underground,
The Cowsills,
Michelle Simonal,
Godley & Creme,
Joe Smooth,
K-Klass,
The Leaves,
Agitation Free,
Simply Red,
Reuben Wilson,
Crime,
Prince Buster,
Amon Düül,
Moby Grape,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Invisible,
Harry Pussy,
Siglo XX,
The Black Dice,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
The Shadows of Knight,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Litter,
Josef K,
Spoonie Gee,
Aloha Tigers,
The Residents,
Flipper,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Royal Trux,
Sister Nancy,
Funky Four + One,
Infiniti,
The Red Krayola,
Soft Cell,
Scott Walker,
Archie Shepp,
Harpers Bizarre,
Ohio Players,
Tropical Tobacco,
Amazonics,
H. Thieme,
Echospace,
The Busters,
David McCallum,
The Neon Judgement,
The Last Poets,
Matthew Halsall,
Morten Harket, Morten Harket, Morten Harket, Morten Harket.
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.