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 Guinea-Bissau and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 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 Sonny Sharrock to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Brothers Johnson. All the underground hits.
All Barry Ungar tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Steve Hackett record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Grass Roots record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Parry Music,
The Buckinghams,
Pylon,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
A Certain Ratio,
The Mummies,
Harry Pussy,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Neon Judgement,
Slave,
the Human League,
Interpol,
Dead Boys,
Danielle Patucci,
Sex Pistols,
Loose Ends,
The American Breed,
Pantaleimon,
Massinfluence,
Spandau Ballet,
Make Up,
In Retrospect,
Model 500,
The Techniques,
Joyce Sims,
Absolute Body Control,
Soul Sonic Force,
Monolake,
Crispian St. Peters,
Ponytail,
Ralphi Rosario,
Tomorrow,
Brand Nubian,
Sam Rivers,
Tommy Roe,
Angry Samoans,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Visage,
Arthur Verocai,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Reuben Wilson,
Schoolly D,
Tim Buckley,
CMW,
Hardrive,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
DNA,
Smog,
Lalann,
The Modern Lovers,
Scratch Acid,
Frankie Knuckles,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Harmonia,
James White and The Blacks,
Cameo,
Banda Bassotti,
Dave Gahan,
Darondo,
Wasted Youth,
The Last Poets,
Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station.
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.