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 Switzerland and from Mexico City.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 The Doors to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 The Golliwogs. All the underground hits.
All Alphaville tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 linndrum and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Simply Red,
10cc,
Public Image Ltd.,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Eden Ahbez,
Matthew Bourne,
Japan,
The Leaves,
Essential Logic,
The Gladiators,
ABC,
New York Dolls,
Swell Maps,
Frankie Knuckles,
Chris Corsano,
This Heat,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Absolute Body Control,
the Association,
The Divine Comedy,
Icehouse,
Barry Ungar,
The Alarm Clocks,
Fear,
Negative Approach,
Livin' Joy,
DNA,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Pierre Henry,
Banda Bassotti,
Man Eating Sloth,
Second Layer,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Franke,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Fugazi,
Eurythmics,
Carl Craig,
Mark Hollis,
Zapp,
Graham Central Station,
The Smoke,
Crispy Ambulance,
Deakin,
Mary Jane Girls,
Wolf Eyes,
Ronnie Foster,
Chris & Cosey,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Shoche,
Unwound,
Ultra Naté,
John Cale,
Jeru the Damaja,
Jeff Lynne,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Wings,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Dave Clark Five,
Gil Scott Heron,
Outsiders,
Bill Wells, Bill Wells, Bill Wells, Bill Wells.
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.