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 Mozambique and from Tehran.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
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 Charles Mingus to the rock 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 The Fortunes. All the underground hits.
All ABBA tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Traffic Nightmare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Move record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
10cc,
The Cowsills,
Y Pants,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
the Fania All-Stars,
ABC,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Ice-T,
The Mummies,
Man Eating Sloth,
Lower 48,
Traffic Nightmare,
Black Moon,
Slick Rick,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Peter and Kerry,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
EPMD,
Icehouse,
Supertramp,
Masters at Work,
Terrestrial Tones,
Delta 5,
Monolake,
Matthew Halsall,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Wire,
48th St. Collective,
kango's stein massive,
The Buckinghams,
June of 44,
Ken Boothe,
Television,
Danielle Patucci,
Mantronix,
Sparks,
The Vogues,
The Fugs,
Todd Terry,
the Bar-Kays,
Carl Craig,
K-Klass,
Al Stewart,
Yellowson,
Erasure,
Nas,
Ponytail,
Harmonia,
The Cosmic Jokers,
These Immortal Souls,
The Monochrome Set,
Fela Kuti,
Wally Richardson,
Lyres,
Aural Exciters,
Motorama,
Joy Division,
Sällskapet,
Surgeon,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Suicide,
Derrick Morgan,
Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron.
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.