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 Czech Republic and from Salvador.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 grunge 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 The Wake. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Detroit Cobras record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dead C record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Skaos,
Ludus,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lee Hazlewood,
the Association,
Ultra Naté,
the Slits,
Infiniti,
Anakelly,
Swell Maps,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Sonics,
Excepter,
Mo-Dettes,
Kerri Chandler,
Carl Craig,
Tim Buckley,
Marvin Gaye,
Letta Mbulu,
Dawn Penn,
Sandy B,
Graham Central Station,
Saccharine Trust,
Man Parrish,
Lebanon Hanover,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Pole,
John Coltrane,
a-ha,
Howard Jones,
ABC,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Parry Music,
Whodini,
the Human League,
Adolescents,
Ponytail,
Rosa Yemen,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Seeds,
Scientists,
Mission of Burma,
The Red Krayola,
Harmonia,
Curtis Mayfield,
ABBA,
Cheater Slicks,
Grey Daturas,
June of 44,
Rod Modell,
Barbara Tucker,
Prince Buster,
The Birthday Party,
Pere Ubu,
Eurythmics,
Ossler,
T.S.O.L.,
John Cale,
Gang Green,
Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth.
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.