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 Uruguay and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Fifty Foot Hose to the techno 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 Donny Hathaway. All the underground hits.
All Intrusion tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Justin Hinds & The Dominoes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donald Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
This Heat,
The Tremeloes,
Bluetip,
The Fortunes,
Scion,
Avey Tare,
the Sonics,
Roy Ayers,
Jacob Miller,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Jeff Mills,
Arcadia,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
K-Klass,
The Saints,
The Offenders,
Mission of Burma,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Jacques Brel,
Kerrie Biddell,
Unrelated Segments,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Joy Division,
Moss Icon,
Mad Mike,
Echospace,
Porter Ricks,
Maleditus Sound,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Fire Engines,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Severed Heads,
Massinfluence,
Bill Near,
Rotary Connection,
the Fania All-Stars,
Grauzone,
The Pretty Things,
Harmonia,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Minnie Riperton,
Andrew Hill,
Letta Mbulu,
Big Daddy Kane,
John Foxx,
The Blues Magoos,
the Swans,
Matthew Halsall,
Scan 7,
Flipper,
Crispian St. Peters,
Amazonics,
China Crisis,
Young Marble Giants,
Nas,
Accadde A,
Byron Stingily,
Magma,
Neu!,
Tears for Fears,
Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic.
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.