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 Bahrain and from Beijing.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the sitar 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 Outsiders to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Slits. All the underground hits.
All The Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wasted Youth 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Starr record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nirvana,
Kayak,
Babytalk,
Electric Prunes,
Con Funk Shun,
Suburban Knight,
Average White Band,
Skriet,
Technova,
Silicon Teens,
Moss Icon,
Zero Boys,
E-Dancer,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Franke,
Buzzcocks,
The Angels of Light,
Leonard Cohen,
Dark Day,
Matthew Bourne,
Flipper,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Names,
Minutemen,
The Slits,
The Sisters of Mercy,
John Coltrane,
Derrick Morgan,
World's Most,
The Real Kids,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Spoonie Gee,
The Monks,
Donny Hathaway,
The Tremeloes,
Talk Talk,
cv313,
Man Parrish,
D'Angelo,
Sun City Girls,
Darondo,
Michelle Simonal,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Urselle,
Newcleus,
Massinfluence,
Maurizio,
Harpers Bizarre,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Cameo,
Nas,
The Associates,
Television Personalities,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Ituana,
The Smiths,
The Fall,
Faraquet,
The Fire Engines,
Sun Ra,
The Human League,
Faust,
Sugar Minott,
Alphaville, Alphaville, Alphaville, Alphaville.
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.