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 Czech Republic and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 Milan and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 chamberlin 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 The Walker Brothers to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All 8 Eyed Spy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Radio Birdman 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
Animal Collective,
Yusef Lateef,
Yaz,
Youth Brigade,
Lalann,
Desert Stars,
the Bar-Kays,
Roxy Music,
Public Enemy,
the Normal,
Jimmy McGriff,
Faust,
DJ Style,
The Seeds,
Interpol,
James White and The Blacks,
Tubeway Army,
JFA,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Cheater Slicks,
Suicide,
Fad Gadget,
The Dead C,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Agent Orange,
The Modern Lovers,
Andrew Hill,
Kerrie Biddell,
Roxette,
Matthew Halsall,
The Dirtbombs,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Peter & Gordon,
Duran Duran,
Tears for Fears,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Tres Demented,
The Cure,
Q65,
Robert Görl,
Chrome,
Whodini,
Steve Hackett,
The Music Machine,
Colin Newman,
Make Up,
Freddie Wadling,
Zero Boys,
Connie Case,
Basic Channel,
Harry Pussy,
Motorama,
Inner City,
Flash Fearless,
Schoolly D,
Mars,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
MDC,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar.
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.