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 Bolivia and from Delhi.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 spring reverb 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 Supertramp to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Whodini. All the underground hits.
All Ultra Naté tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every John Cale record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Angels of Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Moon,
Pole,
Smog,
The Black Dice,
Freddie Wadling,
Nils Olav,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Standells,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
ABBA,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Walker Brothers,
Negative Approach,
Bobby Byrd,
Jeru the Damaja,
Das Ding,
Lindisfarne,
Junior Murvin,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Mummies,
Sound Behaviour,
Camouflage,
Scratch Acid,
The Residents,
Traffic Nightmare,
Con Funk Shun,
The Fall,
Moby Grape,
MC5,
Jimmy McGriff,
Rufus Thomas,
Kevin Saunderson,
Marcia Griffiths,
Brothers Johnson,
Kayak,
The United States of America,
Mark Hollis,
the Fania All-Stars,
The American Breed,
Arcadia,
The Blues Magoos,
Thee Headcoats,
Sexual Harrassment,
Avey Tare,
Faust,
Vladislav Delay,
Marmalade,
Stockholm Monsters,
Desert Stars,
Essential Logic,
The Golliwogs,
The Offenders,
James White and The Blacks,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Gastr Del Sol,
Alison Limerick,
The Birthday Party,
Theoretical Girls,
Bootsy Collins,
Circle Jerks,
Pulsallama,
Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill.
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.