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 Afghanistan and from Mumbai.
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 1965 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the guitar 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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the jazz kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Ronan. All the underground hits.
All Radio Birdman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James White and The Blacks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Franke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
Eric B and Rakim,
Grandmaster Flash,
Flipper,
The Slits,
Urselle,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Alton Ellis,
The Vogues,
New York Dolls,
Yellowson,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
ABC,
The Cowsills,
Ultra Naté,
Wolf Eyes,
the Association,
Howard Jones,
Liliput,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Popol Vuh,
H. Thieme,
These Immortal Souls,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Junior Murvin,
DNA,
The Leaves,
Chris Corsano,
Hashim,
Wasted Youth,
T. Rex,
Pylon,
Marvin Gaye,
Rakim,
Nils Olav,
Bobby Womack,
Black Bananas,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Roxette,
Sun Ra,
Byron Stingily,
LL Cool J,
Barbara Tucker,
Inner City,
The Star Department,
Niagra,
Jacob Miller,
X-101,
Terry Callier,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Q65,
Peter & Gordon,
Pussy Galore,
Cymande,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Drexciya,
Camouflage,
Tres Demented,
The Seeds,
The Invisible,
Sixth Finger,
the Soft Cell,
Robert Wyatt,
Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins.
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.