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 Benin and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Curtis Mayfield to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every T. Rex record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
The Doobie Brothers,
Theoretical Girls,
CMW,
Circle Jerks,
Public Enemy,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Nils Olav,
Goldenarms,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Eli Mardock,
Chris Corsano,
Groovy Waters,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Eric B and Rakim,
Ralphi Rosario,
Boz Scaggs,
Surgeon,
Kaleidoscope,
These Immortal Souls,
Freddie Wadling,
Steve Hackett,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Smiths,
Magma,
Stockholm Monsters,
Bobby Womack,
Skriet,
Bush Tetras,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Black Pus,
Moby Grape,
Altered Images,
Gerry Rafferty,
Brick,
The Grass Roots,
Fluxion,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Country Teasers,
Pantytec,
Sun Ra,
Young Marble Giants,
Hardrive,
Ultravox,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Adolescents,
The Index,
Alton Ellis,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Tropical Tobacco,
Al Stewart,
Cluster,
Sällskapet,
Marine Girls,
The Human League,
The Cowsills,
Panda Bear,
The Durutti Column,
Sound Behaviour,
Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers.
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.