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 Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Seoul.
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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Second Layer to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Lightning Bolt. All the underground hits.
All Lalo Schifrin tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Throbbing Gristle 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sun Ra Arkestra record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Livin' Joy,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Moleskins,
Youth Brigade,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Tres Demented,
Little Man,
Television,
Kevin Saunderson,
Sister Nancy,
Popol Vuh,
Slick Rick,
Cheater Slicks,
Unrelated Segments,
Joey Negro,
Grauzone,
Terry Callier,
John Cale,
T.S.O.L.,
Sun Ra,
Cluster,
Alice Coltrane,
China Crisis,
JFA,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Man Eating Sloth,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Juan Atkins,
Junior Murvin,
Bob Dylan,
Lou Christie,
Stockholm Monsters,
Au Pairs,
Scott Walker,
Tommy Roe,
Amon Düül,
Bill Wells,
ABC,
U.S. Maple,
Nik Kershaw,
The Fortunes,
Inner City,
Thompson Twins,
Boogie Down Productions,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Modern Lovers,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Velvet Underground,
Rites of Spring,
Aaron Thompson,
Liliput,
Severed Heads,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Selecter,
Lightning Bolt,
Hardrive,
Gichy Dan,
Ornette Coleman,
The Remains,
The Music Machine,
Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood.
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.