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 Croatia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 Donald Fagen 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 Roy Ayers Ubiquity to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Smoke record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dead C record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Byrd,
Marcia Griffiths,
Scrapy,
Hot Snakes,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Black Sheep,
10cc,
The Gladiators,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Sex Pistols,
The Misunderstood,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Harpers Bizarre,
Unrelated Segments,
the Soft Cell,
Reuben Wilson,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Jeru the Damaja,
Infiniti,
U.S. Maple,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
La Düsseldorf,
The Pretty Things,
Das Ding,
Little Man,
New Order,
Sound Behaviour,
Sight & Sound,
Gang Green,
Traffic Nightmare,
Liliput,
David Bowie,
Arab on Radar,
Bootsy Collins,
Pole,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Monks,
James White and The Blacks,
The Star Department,
Juan Atkins,
The Divine Comedy,
Ronan,
Bush Tetras,
Terry Callier,
Altered Images,
Aaron Thompson,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Thee Headcoats,
Michelle Simonal,
Harmonia,
Lyres,
Dorothy Ashby,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Fall,
Alice Coltrane,
Carl Craig,
Josef K,
Eric Dolphy,
Pulsallama,
Oblivians,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Amazonics,
The Motions,
Eden Ahbez,
the Germs, the Germs, the Germs, the Germs.
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.