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 Austria and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 rhodes 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the jazz 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 The Vogues. All the underground hits.
All La Düsseldorf tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bluetip record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s 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 The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tres Demented,
X-Ray Spex,
Negative Approach,
The Gun Club,
Soft Machine,
Danielle Patucci,
The Monks,
Deakin,
Absolute Body Control,
Yazoo,
Average White Band,
Johnny Osbourne,
the Sonics,
Matthew Halsall,
Nation of Ulysses,
Todd Terry,
Max Romeo,
Vainqueur,
Das Ding,
Dark Day,
Gang Gang Dance,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Maleditus Sound,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Fat Boys,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Nico,
The Invisible,
Camouflage,
Gang Green,
Mark Hollis,
The Blackbyrds,
John Lydon,
Brothers Johnson,
Magazine,
Radiohead,
Panda Bear,
David Bowie,
The Standells,
Don Cherry,
Outsiders,
David Axelrod,
Amon Düül II,
The Cramps,
Derrick Morgan,
The Index,
Ossler,
Stockholm Monsters,
Amazonics,
Bronski Beat,
Neil Young,
The Beau Brummels,
Isaac Hayes,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Stooges,
Albert Ayler,
New York Dolls,
Pussy Galore,
Jacob Miller,
Ice-T,
The Five Americans,
Soft Cell,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Slits, The Slits, The Slits, The Slits.
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.