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 Fiji and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Scan 7 to the jazz 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 Sister Nancy. All the underground hits.
All Lindisfarne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Colin Newman record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 synthesizer and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Searchers,
Wally Richardson,
Outsiders,
Aloha Tigers,
Electric Prunes,
Fela Kuti,
The Happenings,
The Sound,
The Count Five,
cv313,
K-Klass,
DJ Sneak,
Y Pants,
The Wake,
These Immortal Souls,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
R.M.O.,
The Names,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Last Poets,
Dark Day,
Angry Samoans,
Wolf Eyes,
Scott Walker,
The Leaves,
Joy Division,
New Age Steppers,
Grandmaster Flash,
Frankie Knuckles,
Public Enemy,
Procol Harum,
The Invisible,
June Days,
Scion,
Janne Schatter,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Unrelated Segments,
Goldenarms,
the Sonics,
The Sonics,
Liliput,
Alice Coltrane,
The Golliwogs,
Popol Vuh,
The Misunderstood,
Letta Mbulu,
Inner City,
Royal Trux,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The American Breed,
John Coltrane,
Moss Icon,
The Index,
Nils Olav,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Mojo Men,
Suburban Knight,
Deepchord,
Public Image Ltd.,
Parry Music,
Anthony Braxton, Anthony Braxton, Anthony Braxton, Anthony Braxton.
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.