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 Gabon and from Delhi.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Brand Nubian to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu. All the underground hits.
All Vladislav Delay tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Strawberry Alarm Clock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Kinks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ossler,
Matthew Bourne,
Babytalk,
Ash Ra Tempel,
ABBA,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
F. McDonald,
Slave,
Cecil Taylor,
The Gladiators,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
A Certain Ratio,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Scratch Acid,
Blake Baxter,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Ituana,
Mary Jane Girls,
Bootsy Collins,
Arab on Radar,
David Bowie,
Goldenarms,
Tres Demented,
Darondo,
EPMD,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Kurtis Blow,
the Slits,
Grandmaster Flash,
Livin' Joy,
Dead Boys,
Qualms,
Depeche Mode,
Supertramp,
Michelle Simonal,
Sun City Girls,
Rod Modell,
Jacob Miller,
Delta 5,
kango's stein massive,
Todd Terry,
Radiohead,
Al Stewart,
Ornette Coleman,
Judy Mowatt,
Mo-Dettes,
Thee Headcoats,
Smog,
Wire,
The American Breed,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Terry Callier,
Black Flag,
Gerry Rafferty,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Dave Clark Five,
Outsiders,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Leaves,
Magazine, Magazine, Magazine, Magazine.
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.