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 Haiti and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Oblivians to the grunge 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 Barrington Levy. All the underground hits.
All The Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ossler record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 linndrum and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jerry Gold Smith,
Camberwell Now,
Terry Callier,
The Alarm Clocks,
London Community Gospel Choir,
the Slits,
Aswad,
The Raincoats,
John Holt,
Urselle,
Wally Richardson,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Hoover,
Pharoah Sanders,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Chris & Cosey,
K-Klass,
ABC,
Wings,
The Dave Clark Five,
KRS-One,
Cluster,
Erykah Badu,
the Human League,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Vogues,
Bobby Sherman,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Gang of Four,
Delta 5,
Scratch Acid,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Malaria!,
The Moleskins,
cv313,
The Cowsills,
Rakim,
Soul Sonic Force,
X-102,
Roxy Music,
Mary Jane Girls,
Man Parrish,
Ronan,
Ken Boothe,
48th St. Collective,
Smog,
Warsaw,
Leonard Cohen,
Donny Hathaway,
Vainqueur,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Duran Duran,
The Grass Roots,
Zero Boys,
Lou Christie,
Ice-T,
The Sound,
Jeff Mills,
Ituana,
Gerry Rafferty,
Boogie Down Productions,
DJ Style, DJ Style, DJ Style, DJ Style.
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.