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 Lebanon and from London.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Roy Ayers to the grunge 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 Bad Manners. All the underground hits.
All Animal Collective tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The J.B.'s 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sound,
The Five Americans,
Bob Dylan,
The Fortunes,
Gichy Dan,
Jacques Brel,
Vainqueur,
the Bar-Kays,
World's Most,
Interpol,
Inner City,
John Cale,
The Human League,
Suicide,
The Mojo Men,
Jeff Mills,
Subhumans,
Khruangbin,
Fad Gadget,
Liliput,
The Raincoats,
Ralphi Rosario,
Pylon,
Eve St. Jones,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
UT,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Heaven 17,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gang of Four,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Dirtbombs,
Lou Christie,
Dorothy Ashby,
Procol Harum,
Steve Hackett,
This Heat,
the Human League,
The Moleskins,
Sixth Finger,
Lalann,
Monks,
Danielle Patucci,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Wake,
Fat Boys,
Camberwell Now,
Flipper,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Maurizio,
Jeff Lynne,
Blossom Toes,
Cal Tjader,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Sex Pistols,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Barracudas,
a-ha,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
James White and The Blacks,
Max Romeo,
Carl Craig,
Los Fastidios,
Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn.
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.