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 Saudi Arabia and from Mumbai.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Pere Ubu to the disco kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Henry Cow. All the underground hits.
All Tropical Tobacco tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lizzy Mercier Descloux record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Franke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Don Cherry,
Hashim,
Boogie Down Productions,
Rakim,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Schoolly D,
The Skatalites,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Heaven 17,
Hasil Adkins,
Warsaw,
Al Stewart,
OOIOO,
Mandrill,
Neil Young,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Wings,
Matthew Bourne,
Eyeless In Gaza,
New Age Steppers,
The Golliwogs,
Eric B and Rakim,
Lindisfarne,
The Residents,
David Bowie,
The American Breed,
Suburban Knight,
Funkadelic,
New York Dolls,
The Fugs,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Chris Corsano,
The Velvet Underground,
Tres Demented,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Henry Cow,
The Stooges,
Dead Boys,
Bronski Beat,
The Happenings,
The Wake,
The Invisible,
Crispy Ambulance,
F. McDonald,
The Walker Brothers,
The Misunderstood,
Pole,
Mission of Burma,
Black Moon,
Dawn Penn,
The Young Rascals,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Shuggie Otis,
Quantec,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Rekid,
The Cramps,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Standells,
the Sonics,
The Electric Prunes,
The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones.
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.