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 Hungary and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 harpsichord 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 Gang Starr to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Cheater Slicks. All the underground hits.
All Eddi Front tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Simply Red record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 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 American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Neil Young,
Kerrie Biddell,
the Human League,
Ludus,
Maurizio,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Adolescents,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
New York Dolls,
Von Mondo,
The Names,
Ken Boothe,
The Black Dice,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Organ,
Severed Heads,
Pagans,
Quantec,
The Kinks,
Colin Newman,
Scratch Acid,
Procol Harum,
It's A Beautiful Day,
X-Ray Spex,
The Five Americans,
Byron Stingily,
Buzzcocks,
The Pretty Things,
Au Pairs,
James White and The Blacks,
Schoolly D,
Gong,
The Move,
R.M.O.,
Robert Wyatt,
The Trojans,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Lindisfarne,
Fat Boys,
Joey Negro,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Gregory Isaacs,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Star Department,
Radio Birdman,
Lalann,
Erykah Badu,
The Cowsills,
the Soft Cell,
Godley & Creme,
Mantronix,
Parry Music,
Yazoo,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Agent Orange,
T. Rex,
Interpol,
The Knickerbockers,
Infiniti, Infiniti, Infiniti, Infiniti.
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.