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 Brunei and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Lyon.
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 Robert Palmer 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 Jesper Dahlbäck to the punk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Boz Scaggs. All the underground hits.
All Tres Demented tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crime record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell 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?
Saccharine Trust,
Fat Boys,
Harpers Bizarre,
Eurythmics,
Ponytail,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Howard Jones,
Gil Scott Heron,
Alice Coltrane,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Grey Daturas,
Malaria!,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Index,
Funkadelic,
DNA,
Fluxion,
The Raincoats,
Lou Christie,
Lindisfarne,
The Blackbyrds,
Monolake,
The Cowsills,
Adolescents,
The Vogues,
Half Japanese,
Echospace,
The Selecter,
Curtis Mayfield,
Sexual Harrassment,
Mo-Dettes,
Fugazi,
Faust,
Peter & Gordon,
Big Daddy Kane,
Wings,
Leonard Cohen,
Andrew Hill,
Soulsonic Force,
Gerry Rafferty,
Rakim,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Henry Cow,
The Barracudas,
Cluster,
The Red Krayola,
Robert Hood,
This Heat,
Pet Shop Boys,
OOIOO,
Eddi Front,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Divine Comedy,
The Fire Engines,
Con Funk Shun,
Nation of Ulysses,
Mad Mike,
Interpol,
Qualms,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Darondo,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.