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 Sri Lanka and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Philadelphia.
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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Blues Magoos to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Yusef Lateef. All the underground hits.
All Duran Duran tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harry Pussy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T. Rex,
Jacob Miller,
Nas,
Hasil Adkins,
Silicon Teens,
Public Image Ltd.,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Harmonia,
The Gun Club,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Glambeats Corp.,
Thee Headcoats,
Negative Approach,
Nick Fraelich,
Barbara Tucker,
Shuggie Otis,
Crooked Eye,
Chris & Cosey,
Blake Baxter,
Johnny Clarke,
The Golliwogs,
Wasted Youth,
Ultra Naté,
Sam Rivers,
The Seeds,
Spoonie Gee,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Zeros,
PIL,
Wings,
Janne Schatter,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Black Pus,
Matthew Halsall,
Susan Cadogan,
Bauhaus,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Slave,
Alphaville,
Throbbing Gristle,
the Sonics,
The Offenders,
Camberwell Now,
Pet Shop Boys,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Marcia Griffiths,
Hot Snakes,
Fela Kuti,
Boz Scaggs,
Mandrill,
Agent Orange,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Sugar Minott,
Interpol,
Youth Brigade,
Bobby Sherman,
Harpers Bizarre,
Rapeman,
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.