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 Latvia and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Desert Stars 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 Gil Scott Heron. All the underground hits.
All Amazonics tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sound Behaviour record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funkadelic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Music Machine,
The Beau Brummels,
Bobby Sherman,
DJ Style,
Liliput,
Lou Christie,
Robert Hood,
Scrapy,
Barry Ungar,
Grandmaster Flash,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Mary Jane Girls,
Angry Samoans,
Bush Tetras,
Organ,
Jandek,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Fuzztones,
Cal Tjader,
The Wake,
Qualms,
Flamin' Groovies,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Sonny Sharrock,
Jacques Brel,
Gichy Dan,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Delon & Dalcan,
Steve Hackett,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Fela Kuti,
JFA,
Visage,
Ponytail,
Gil Scott Heron,
Pantaleimon,
The Durutti Column,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Delta 5,
Hot Snakes,
Ultra Naté,
Girls At Our Best!,
Rakim,
Sister Nancy,
Matthew Bourne,
Marmalade,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Young Rascals,
48th St. Collective,
Camouflage,
The Selecter,
Moby Grape,
Procol Harum,
Carl Craig,
Kayak,
Cameo,
Radiohead,
Aswad, Aswad, Aswad, Aswad.
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.