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 Mozambique and from Bologna.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 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 The Flesh Eaters to the grime kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Hardrive. All the underground hits.
All Bootsy Collins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Star Department record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Toasters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Electric Prunes,
Niagra,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Black Flag,
Porter Ricks,
Pylon,
Public Enemy,
Ituana,
Monolake,
Graham Central Station,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Marshall Jefferson,
Ornette Coleman,
The Happenings,
New Age Steppers,
Surgeon,
X-101,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Misunderstood,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Camouflage,
Visage,
Nils Olav,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Red Krayola,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bootsy Collins,
Iggy Pop,
Motorama,
The Mummies,
Joe Finger,
Gabor Szabo,
The Fuzztones,
Wolf Eyes,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
CMW,
The Barracudas,
Tears for Fears,
Danielle Patucci,
Marmalade,
The Real Kids,
Gichy Dan,
Sound Behaviour,
Qualms,
Desert Stars,
Gang Green,
The Seeds,
Matthew Bourne,
Can,
Q and Not U,
Harpers Bizarre,
Popol Vuh,
The Sound,
Royal Trux,
The Alarm Clocks,
Mad Mike,
Sonny Sharrock,
Ronan,
Scratch Acid,
Pere Ubu,
Yaz,
Intrusion,
Crispy Ambulance,
The United States of America, The United States of America, The United States of America, The United States of America.
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.