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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 arpeggiator 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 Fort Wilson Riot to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Sonny Sharrock. All the underground hits.
All Kerrie Biddell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marcia Griffiths record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 an oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Freddie Wadling record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Radio Birdman,
Gil Scott Heron,
Bootsy Collins,
The Residents,
Pylon,
The Tremeloes,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Sam Rivers,
Scion,
Amazonics,
New Age Steppers,
The Slackers,
Tim Buckley,
DJ Style,
Brick,
Amon Düül,
Skarface,
Amon Düül II,
Pantytec,
Scientists,
Livin' Joy,
R.M.O.,
Ultra Naté,
Half Japanese,
Pantaleimon,
Wasted Youth,
Barbara Tucker,
Unwound,
Josef K,
Jeff Mills,
Con Funk Shun,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Sonny Sharrock,
Eurythmics,
The Cure,
Yellowson,
The Monochrome Set,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Fortunes,
Rosa Yemen,
The Gun Club,
Rekid,
Max Romeo,
Blancmange,
Organ,
Sarah Menescal,
Alton Ellis,
Howard Jones,
Excepter,
Essential Logic,
Altered Images,
Leonard Cohen,
Barrington Levy,
The Gories,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Sexual Harrassment,
Curtis Mayfield,
Cabaret Voltaire,
LL Cool J,
The Dirtbombs,
The Fall,
Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat.
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.