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 South Sudan and from Bologna.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Eve St. Jones to the dance 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 Sällskapet. All the underground hits.
All Livin' Joy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Modern Lovers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pantytec record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cheater Slicks,
Max Romeo,
Sight & Sound,
Television,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Andrew Hill,
Lucky Dragons,
La Düsseldorf,
Joy Division,
John Coltrane,
The Star Department,
Dorothy Ashby,
Cal Tjader,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Severed Heads,
Rufus Thomas,
Bush Tetras,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Quando Quango,
Dennis Brown,
The Dirtbombs,
Terry Callier,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
X-102,
Bronski Beat,
Barrington Levy,
Alice Coltrane,
Marmalade,
Bill Wells,
In Retrospect,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Invisible,
The Five Americans,
Minny Pops,
Alton Ellis,
Man Parrish,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Radio Birdman,
New Age Steppers,
Trumans Water,
Wally Richardson,
Ituana,
Peter and Kerry,
Pylon,
Todd Rundgren,
Suburban Knight,
Joe Finger,
Girls At Our Best!,
Byron Stingily,
Stiv Bators,
The Slits,
Delon & Dalcan,
Fat Boys,
Rosa Yemen,
Inner City,
X-101,
The Techniques,
The Misunderstood,
One Last Wish,
The Young Rascals,
Mad Mike,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family.
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.