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 Yemen and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax 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 spring reverb 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 Wally Richardson to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Livin' Joy. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marshall Jefferson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amon Düül,
Angry Samoans,
Eden Ahbez,
Animal Collective,
The Selecter,
Blake Baxter,
The Dirtbombs,
Gichy Dan,
Popol Vuh,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Jacob Miller,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Blancmange,
the Bar-Kays,
Technova,
The Velvet Underground,
Kerri Chandler,
Todd Terry,
Roxette,
Country Teasers,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Crooked Eye,
B.T. Express,
The Mighty Diamonds,
DJ Style,
The Move,
Sex Pistols,
John Lydon,
The Red Krayola,
Vladislav Delay,
Public Image Ltd.,
These Immortal Souls,
Lee Hazlewood,
Franke,
Carl Craig,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Absolute Body Control,
Big Daddy Kane,
Jerry's Kids,
Jandek,
Brothers Johnson,
The Beau Brummels,
Chris & Cosey,
Peter and Kerry,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Sun City Girls,
Bob Dylan,
Brass Construction,
Barclay James Harvest,
James White and The Blacks,
The Sonics,
Subhumans,
Cymande,
Al Stewart,
The Raincoats,
Outsiders,
The Sound,
The Gladiators,
Josef K,
Quantec,
Dorothy Ashby, Dorothy Ashby, Dorothy Ashby, Dorothy Ashby.
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.