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 Barbados and from London.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Ultimate Spinach to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Inner City. All the underground hits.
All Scott Walker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soft Cell 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gladiators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fat Boys,
Barry Ungar,
The Skatalites,
Angry Samoans,
Hashim,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
OOIOO,
Wasted Youth,
the Human League,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Black Pus,
Tom Boy,
Blake Baxter,
Amon Düül II,
Au Pairs,
Pierre Henry,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Jeff Lynne,
Drive Like Jehu,
Sun City Girls,
Steve Hackett,
Mars,
Rhythm & Sound,
Bluetip,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Be Bop Deluxe,
John Holt,
Panda Bear,
Nation of Ulysses,
Brothers Johnson,
Siglo XX,
Quadrant,
Whodini,
Jacques Brel,
Nirvana,
Rosa Yemen,
Icehouse,
Zapp,
Bob Dylan,
Erykah Badu,
The American Breed,
F. McDonald,
Unrelated Segments,
The Fire Engines,
Average White Band,
Rapeman,
Kerrie Biddell,
Letta Mbulu,
Lou Christie,
John Lydon,
The Misunderstood,
Bobby Byrd,
Sex Pistols,
Faraquet,
Hasil Adkins,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Lungfish,
Barbara Tucker,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Pagans,
T.S.O.L.,
Can,
Loose Ends, Loose Ends, Loose Ends, Loose Ends.
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.