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 Bangladesh and from Lagos.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Charles Mingus to the jazz 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 Gary Puckett & The Union Gap. All the underground hits.
All Ken Boothe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Average White Band 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ajijia Myrayebe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Be Bop Deluxe,
Jacques Brel,
David Bowie,
Moby Grape,
The Golliwogs,
Dead Boys,
Althea and Donna,
Spoonie Gee,
The Cure,
The Fugs,
Main Source,
Black Pus,
Circle Jerks,
Ronnie Foster,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Techniques,
Youth Brigade,
The Trojans,
Terrestrial Tones,
Stockholm Monsters,
Sam Rivers,
The Raincoats,
Cluster,
Curtis Mayfield,
Joe Smooth,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Yaz,
D'Angelo,
Vainqueur,
Davy DMX,
Agent Orange,
Todd Terry,
Dennis Brown,
Banda Bassotti,
The Human League,
Bobby Womack,
Scientists,
Schoolly D,
Minutemen,
Crispy Ambulance,
Boogie Down Productions,
the Slits,
Amon Düül,
Anthony Braxton,
Little Man,
Skriet,
Cybotron,
Kas Product,
Jerry's Kids,
Derrick Morgan,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
MC5,
AZ,
Susan Cadogan,
Lou Reed,
the Germs,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Rod Modell,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
KRS-One,
Sun Ra,
The Invisible,
Aaron Thompson, Aaron Thompson, Aaron Thompson, Aaron Thompson.
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.