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 Zimbabwe and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 synthesizer 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 The Offenders to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 the Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All Neil Young & Crazy Horse tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Detroit Cobras 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Aloha Tigers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Saccharine Trust,
Alice Coltrane,
Donny Hathaway,
Jesper Dahlback,
Fluxion,
Sandy B,
Mo-Dettes,
KRS-One,
Kerri Chandler,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
John Cale,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Leaves,
Roxy Music,
Young Marble Giants,
Livin' Joy,
David Bowie,
Radio Birdman,
Boz Scaggs,
The Slits,
Icehouse,
Ohio Players,
Arab on Radar,
Pere Ubu,
JFA,
X-102,
Shuggie Otis,
Laurel Aitken,
L. Decosne,
Motorama,
The Residents,
the Fania All-Stars,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The American Breed,
Lucky Dragons,
Aural Exciters,
Susan Cadogan,
Depeche Mode,
Minutemen,
Sonny Sharrock,
Derrick May,
U.S. Maple,
Bluetip,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Barry Ungar,
8 Eyed Spy,
Main Source,
Jerry's Kids,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
the Bar-Kays,
Swans,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Banda Bassotti,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Hashim,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Moody Blues,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
E-Dancer,
Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon.
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.