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 Congo and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 Nile Rodgers 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 The Sisters of Mercy to the funk 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 Monks. All the underground hits.
All Young Marble Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Livin' Joy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 marimba and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Don Cherry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nik Kershaw,
Brand Nubian,
Pierre Henry,
Matthew Bourne,
Jandek,
Outsiders,
Moebius,
The Dirtbombs,
Lalo Schifrin,
Aaron Thompson,
Junior Murvin,
Funky Four + One,
Moby Grape,
R.M.O.,
Yaz,
Buzzcocks,
The Remains,
Procol Harum,
The Durutti Column,
Boredoms,
Don Cherry,
Tim Buckley,
Mars,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Spoonie Gee,
the Soft Cell,
Boz Scaggs,
Ultimate Spinach,
Joey Negro,
Crispy Ambulance,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Piero Umiliani,
Kenny Larkin,
Slick Rick,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Sandy B,
Soft Machine,
The Techniques,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Suicide,
Robert Wyatt,
The Searchers,
John Holt,
Bill Near,
Lower 48,
Big Daddy Kane,
This Heat,
Dead Boys,
The Detroit Cobras,
Liliput,
Severed Heads,
Minnie Riperton,
Kayak,
The Index,
Pere Ubu,
X-102,
Mr. Review,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Eric B and Rakim,
Technova,
Guru Guru,
The Stooges,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.