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 Serbia and from Calgary.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Gerry Rafferty to the dance 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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rites of Spring record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 clarinet and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gong record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roxy Music,
Byron Stingily,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Eric Copeland,
Spandau Ballet,
Hot Snakes,
Fatback Band,
The Gun Club,
Chris & Cosey,
the Sonics,
Sam Rivers,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
John Holt,
Sister Nancy,
Godley & Creme,
Reagan Youth,
Johnny Osbourne,
Toni Rubio,
The Leaves,
Ornette Coleman,
Avey Tare,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Beau Brummels,
Harmonia,
Organ,
Barry Ungar,
The Mummies,
Grandmaster Flash,
Masters at Work,
Deakin,
H. Thieme,
Bluetip,
The United States of America,
Mo-Dettes,
Vainqueur,
Franke,
Main Source,
The Birthday Party,
Scan 7,
A Certain Ratio,
The Fire Engines,
Glenn Branca,
Neu!,
Lee Hazlewood,
Curtis Mayfield,
Joyce Sims,
Kevin Saunderson,
Fela Kuti,
Henry Cow,
Derrick May,
The Tremeloes,
Lungfish,
Terrestrial Tones,
cv313,
Amon Düül,
Tim Buckley,
Bob Dylan,
Loose Ends,
K-Klass,
Rakim,
The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators.
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.