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 St Lucia and from Seoul.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the marimba 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 D'Angelo to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Eden Ahbez. All the underground hits.
All Y Pants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wire record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lee Hazlewood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Circle Jerks,
June of 44,
Derrick Morgan,
Excepter,
Kenny Larkin,
Rakim,
Nico,
Vainqueur,
Faraquet,
Donny Hathaway,
The Blues Magoos,
Sight & Sound,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Prince Buster,
The Misunderstood,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Moby Grape,
Pylon,
Gil Scott Heron,
Brick,
Duran Duran,
Nas,
Al Stewart,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Doobie Brothers,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Simply Red,
Trumans Water,
Howard Jones,
Terrestrial Tones,
Porter Ricks,
The Barracudas,
Lee Hazlewood,
Mary Jane Girls,
Judy Mowatt,
F. McDonald,
Depeche Mode,
Black Moon,
CMW,
Black Flag,
Dual Sessions,
One Last Wish,
Pagans,
Blancmange,
Easy Going,
Grandmaster Flash,
Wings,
Talk Talk,
T. Rex,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Sällskapet,
Warsaw,
Fugazi,
The Gories,
Boogie Down Productions,
Mark Hollis,
Todd Rundgren,
Alton Ellis,
Roy Ayers,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Traffic Nightmare,
Harry Pussy,
Radiopuhelimet,
Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon.
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.