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 Turkmenistan and from Manchester.
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 Winnipeg and Mexico City.
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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Max Romeo to the techno kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Move. All the underground hits.
All David McCallum tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-102 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Searchers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jimmy McGriff,
Flamin' Groovies,
Sex Pistols,
The J.B.'s,
John Holt,
Stockholm Monsters,
Cheater Slicks,
Cluster,
The Evens,
Boredoms,
KRS-One,
Basic Channel,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Livin' Joy,
Laurel Aitken,
The Martian,
Guru Guru,
Jacques Brel,
Half Japanese,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Niagra,
the Association,
Morten Harket,
Bob Dylan,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Patti Smith,
Reuben Wilson,
Alphaville,
Urselle,
Bill Near,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Soft Cell,
Jawbox,
Monks,
MDC,
Andrew Hill,
Donald Byrd,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Eric Dolphy,
Con Funk Shun,
the Normal,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Liliput,
Amon Düül,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
La Düsseldorf,
Joensuu 1685,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Glambeats Corp.,
Swans,
Lucky Dragons,
The Slackers,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Golliwogs,
CMW,
Radiopuhelimet,
Monolake,
Black Pus,
Rufus Thomas,
Robert Görl,
Nik Kershaw,
The Litter, The Litter, The Litter, The Litter.
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.