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 Belgium and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez 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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 mellotron 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 Glambeats Corp. to the punk 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 Scratch Acid. All the underground hits.
All The Sisters of Mercy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tom Boy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Index record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sly & The Family Stone,
Hot Snakes,
Judy Mowatt,
Adolescents,
Girls At Our Best!,
Pere Ubu,
Grauzone,
The Vogues,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Scratch Acid,
Scrapy,
MC5,
The Wake,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
The Monks,
U.S. Maple,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Talk Talk,
Sex Pistols,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Gregory Isaacs,
Barclay James Harvest,
Fatback Band,
Magma,
Altered Images,
Tommy Roe,
Ken Boothe,
Scan 7,
10cc,
Aloha Tigers,
The Red Krayola,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Todd Rundgren,
The Offenders,
Chris & Cosey,
Inner City,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Smog,
Eric B and Rakim,
Todd Terry,
Kenny Larkin,
OOIOO,
B.T. Express,
Dave Gahan,
The Blues Magoos,
Trumans Water,
Juan Atkins,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Golliwogs,
John Holt,
Cybotron,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Neon Judgement,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Monolake,
Robert Wyatt,
Dark Day,
Anakelly,
Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters, Aural Exciters.
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.