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 Liberia and from Spokane.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Wally Richardson to the grunge 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 Leaves. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every D'Angelo 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 sitar and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Peter & Gordon,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Davy DMX,
Spandau Ballet,
The Black Dice,
Danielle Patucci,
The Slackers,
Smog,
Youth Brigade,
Toni Rubio,
Franke,
Althea and Donna,
Negative Approach,
Cecil Taylor,
The Names,
Buzzcocks,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Eric B and Rakim,
The American Breed,
Talk Talk,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Rekid,
Absolute Body Control,
Metal Thangz,
China Crisis,
Ituana,
John Coltrane,
Tears for Fears,
Pantytec,
CMW,
Rosa Yemen,
Ken Boothe,
Country Teasers,
Agent Orange,
Jawbox,
Chris & Cosey,
Young Marble Giants,
Swans,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Durutti Column,
the Swans,
The Neon Judgement,
Lyres,
Lower 48,
New Order,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bill Wells,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Stiv Bators,
Howard Jones,
Yazoo,
Whodini,
Fela Kuti,
The Selecter,
Black Moon,
Albert Ayler,
Sandy B,
Thee Headcoats,
cv313,
Skarface,
Unwound,
Amazonics,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Henry Cow,
The Raincoats, The Raincoats, The Raincoats, The Raincoats.
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.