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 Zambia and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
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 Crispian St. Peters to the dance 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 The Modern Lovers. All the underground hits.
All Pantytec tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every R.M.O. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Severed Heads record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joe Finger,
Jacques Brel,
Pere Ubu,
Dead Boys,
Steve Hackett,
Bill Wells,
Das Ding,
Monks,
The Dirtbombs,
The Move,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Bootsy Collins,
Amon Düül II,
Warsaw,
Pylon,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Pussy Galore,
LL Cool J,
Moby Grape,
Sexual Harrassment,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
X-Ray Spex,
Buzzcocks,
Deepchord,
Bobby Sherman,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Supertramp,
Ponytail,
The Black Dice,
48th St. Collective,
Freddie Wadling,
Peter and Kerry,
Khruangbin,
Roy Ayers,
PIL,
Jerry's Kids,
Barclay James Harvest,
Kaleidoscope,
Liliput,
Hoover,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Excepter,
Eric Dolphy,
Bizarre Inc.,
Adolescents,
Curtis Mayfield,
Clear Light,
Flash Fearless,
The Fortunes,
Yazoo,
The Evens,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Smiths,
Frankie Knuckles,
Visage,
Zapp,
Isaac Hayes,
Donny Hathaway,
Skriet,
Moss Icon,
Porter Ricks,
A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls.
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.