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 Chad and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Jerry Gold Smith to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Bootsy's Rubber Band. All the underground hits.
All Roxette tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flash Fearless 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Red Krayola record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Moody Blues,
Rakim,
Gastr Del Sol,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Don Cherry,
Duran Duran,
Mary Jane Girls,
Lou Reed,
Idris Muhammad,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Sound Behaviour,
This Heat,
The Flesh Eaters,
Sam Rivers,
Soft Cell,
The Electric Prunes,
Pussy Galore,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Toni Rubio,
Boz Scaggs,
H. Thieme,
10cc,
These Immortal Souls,
Khruangbin,
The Leaves,
Tubeway Army,
The Cure,
Los Fastidios,
The Skatalites,
Stetsasonic,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Knickerbockers,
Moss Icon,
Accadde A,
Angry Samoans,
the Fania All-Stars,
Man Eating Sloth,
Crispian St. Peters,
Liliput,
Deakin,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Underground Resistance,
Roxy Music,
The Dirtbombs,
Nirvana,
Glambeats Corp.,
John Lydon,
The Stooges,
The Dave Clark Five,
Organ,
DJ Style,
Index,
Harpers Bizarre,
Erasure,
Flipper,
Man Parrish,
Ken Boothe,
Bobby Womack,
Guru Guru,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope.
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.