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 Papua New Guinea and from Taipei.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Manila.
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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 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 ABBA to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Camouflage. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Main Source 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Traffic Nightmare record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultra Naté,
The Gories,
Mr. Review,
Harry Pussy,
Clear Light,
Eden Ahbez,
Trumans Water,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Sun Ra,
Gastr Del Sol,
Ituana,
Hashim,
Talk Talk,
The Standells,
Supertramp,
F. McDonald,
Eli Mardock,
Yazoo,
Donald Byrd,
Pierre Henry,
Brass Construction,
John Coltrane,
Camberwell Now,
Radiopuhelimet,
L. Decosne,
Don Cherry,
Pantytec,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Quadrant,
Warren Ellis,
Deadbeat,
Susan Cadogan,
Anakelly,
Lightning Bolt,
The Count Five,
the Soft Cell,
Archie Shepp,
John Lydon,
Section 25,
Marvin Gaye,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Magazine,
Malaria!,
Siglo XX,
Accadde A,
Yellowson,
EPMD,
Alphaville,
Jawbox,
Tim Buckley,
Prince Buster,
Marine Girls,
Hot Snakes,
Moby Grape,
Nick Fraelich,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Slackers,
Y Pants,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sister Nancy, Sister Nancy, Sister Nancy, Sister Nancy.
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.