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 Uzbekistan and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Pussy Galore to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 X-Ray Spex. All the underground hits.
All Spandau Ballet tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Vogues 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fear,
Black Sheep,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
X-Ray Spex,
Bush Tetras,
Minnie Riperton,
Popol Vuh,
Tropical Tobacco,
Oneida,
Shoche,
Brass Construction,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Misunderstood,
Technova,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Al Stewart,
Los Fastidios,
Young Marble Giants,
Magma,
Shuggie Otis,
Jawbox,
ABBA,
John Lydon,
Blake Baxter,
Minutemen,
Anakelly,
The Tremeloes,
LL Cool J,
The Fire Engines,
Barrington Levy,
Interpol,
48th St. Collective,
Juan Atkins,
Freddie Wadling,
Warsaw,
Public Enemy,
John Holt,
Darondo,
Pagans,
Terrestrial Tones,
Whodini,
Ponytail,
Liliput,
The American Breed,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Yazoo,
Magazine,
Charles Mingus,
Harmonia,
Isaac Hayes,
The New Christs,
Don Cherry,
MC5,
Ohio Players,
Tears for Fears,
The Grass Roots,
Altered Images,
Rhythm & Sound,
Bootsy Collins,
Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt.
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.