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 Azerbaijan and from Cairo.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Alton Ellis to the rap 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 These Immortal Souls. All the underground hits.
All Fugazi tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kerri Chandler 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cabaret Voltaire record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eric B and Rakim,
Rufus Thomas,
Smog,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Slits,
Skriet,
Matthew Halsall,
Black Pus,
Banda Bassotti,
Tom Boy,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Camouflage,
Joyce Sims,
Mandrill,
Barrington Levy,
The Gun Club,
Organ,
Stockholm Monsters,
Patti Smith,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
48th St. Collective,
Visage,
Tropical Tobacco,
Hardrive,
The Monks,
Minnie Riperton,
Lungfish,
Zapp,
The Dirtbombs,
EPMD,
Bush Tetras,
Graham Central Station,
Pharoah Sanders,
Eve St. Jones,
Desert Stars,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Fortunes,
Funkadelic,
the Sonics,
Crooked Eye,
The Dead C,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Anthony Braxton,
Marvin Gaye,
Amon Düül,
Rekid,
June of 44,
The Gladiators,
Main Source,
the Soft Cell,
Chris & Cosey,
Lyres,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Real Kids,
Cameo,
10cc,
Gang Gang Dance,
Lebanon Hanover,
Sparks, Sparks, Sparks, Sparks.
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.