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 Brunei and from Madrid.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Black Sheep to the electroclash 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 Bizarre Inc.. All the underground hits.
All The Angels of Light tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fatback Band 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a 808 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 güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Traffic Nightmare,
The Dirtbombs,
Talk Talk,
Soft Cell,
KRS-One,
Agitation Free,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Alice Coltrane,
Tim Buckley,
Rapeman,
The Wake,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Jimmy McGriff,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Pantaleimon,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Monks,
The Searchers,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Morten Harket,
Arcadia,
Laurel Aitken,
Shoche,
Ossler,
Marc Almond,
Man Parrish,
The Pop Group,
The Smiths,
Television,
The American Breed,
Eli Mardock,
Roy Ayers,
The Gories,
Q65,
Gang Green,
Magma,
the Slits,
the Germs,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Kerrie Biddell,
Fad Gadget,
Dorothy Ashby,
Crime,
Stiv Bators,
Quantec,
Maleditus Sound,
Adolescents,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Lee Hazlewood,
A Certain Ratio,
Faraquet,
Crispian St. Peters,
JFA,
Scan 7,
Quando Quango,
Throbbing Gristle,
Sex Pistols,
The Fall,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Supertramp,
John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane.
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.