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 Cyprus and from Milan.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 organ 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 Television to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Litter. All the underground hits.
All Cecil Taylor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Byron Stingily 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lou Reed & Metallica,
John Cale,
LL Cool J,
ABC,
Index,
The Fortunes,
The Dead C,
Nils Olav,
Black Moon,
Thee Headcoats,
Sexual Harrassment,
X-102,
Rakim,
The Flesh Eaters,
Shuggie Otis,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Soul Sonic Force,
Nik Kershaw,
The Grass Roots,
The Velvet Underground,
Kerrie Biddell,
Stereo Dub,
Little Man,
Scratch Acid,
Pet Shop Boys,
Terry Callier,
Television Personalities,
La Düsseldorf,
Public Image Ltd.,
Anakelly,
This Heat,
Black Flag,
June Days,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Faust,
The Cowsills,
Funkadelic,
The Mojo Men,
Moby Grape,
Maleditus Sound,
Laurel Aitken,
Brick,
The Gories,
The Beau Brummels,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Bang On A Can,
Cal Tjader,
Stiv Bators,
Alton Ellis,
The Monks,
Groovy Waters,
The Detroit Cobras,
Blossom Toes,
Reuben Wilson,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Wake,
F. McDonald,
Can,
Swell Maps,
Subhumans,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Lalann,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys.
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.