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 Poland and from Accra.
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 Delhi and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 CMW. All the underground hits.
All Camouflage tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scan 7 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 synthesizer and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eurythmics record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T. Rex,
Khruangbin,
Cal Tjader,
Johnny Osbourne,
Motorama,
Ornette Coleman,
The Pretty Things,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Brass Construction,
The Velvet Underground,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Organ,
The Doobie Brothers,
Roger Hodgson,
Jandek,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Misunderstood,
The Cowsills,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
H. Thieme,
Bauhaus,
Parry Music,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
R.M.O.,
Slick Rick,
The Real Kids,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Aswad,
Cymande,
Icehouse,
the Bar-Kays,
Boz Scaggs,
Chrome,
Babytalk,
One Last Wish,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Juan Atkins,
Index,
New Order,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Music Machine,
LL Cool J,
Robert Hood,
Heaven 17,
Piero Umiliani,
Ultimate Spinach,
Can,
Ten City,
Erasure,
The Smiths,
Blancmange,
Josef K,
Eden Ahbez,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Scratch Acid,
Brand Nubian,
Siglo XX,
Television,
Wolf Eyes,
Ultra Naté, Ultra Naté, Ultra Naté, Ultra Naté.
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.