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 Singapore and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the oboe 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 Section 25 to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Essential Logic. All the underground hits.
All Theoretical Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Matthew Bourne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monolake,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Saints,
Audionom,
T.S.O.L.,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Laurel Aitken,
Maleditus Sound,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Bobby Byrd,
The Victims,
Bad Manners,
Anthony Braxton,
Bizarre Inc.,
Jacob Miller,
The Fire Engines,
Sexual Harrassment,
Blancmange,
The Litter,
Camberwell Now,
Swans,
Amon Düül,
Connie Case,
Flash Fearless,
Tres Demented,
Roxette,
Traffic Nightmare,
Aswad,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Gerry Rafferty,
the Slits,
Eden Ahbez,
Ken Boothe,
ABC,
Sugar Minott,
U.S. Maple,
Franke,
Pylon,
The Last Poets,
Cybotron,
David Bowie,
Robert Hood,
8 Eyed Spy,
Bootsy Collins,
Derrick Morgan,
Johnny Clarke,
Eric B and Rakim,
Soul Sonic Force,
Alice Coltrane,
The Walker Brothers,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Japan,
John Holt,
Youth Brigade,
The Modern Lovers,
Sister Nancy,
Wire,
DNA,
Chrome,
Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron.
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.