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 Mongolia and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 guitar 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 Maurizio to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Bill Wells. All the underground hits.
All Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pere Ubu record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a H. Thieme record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Leaves,
Adolescents,
The Names,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Count Five,
Basic Channel,
The Fuzztones,
Stiv Bators,
Idris Muhammad,
The Alarm Clocks,
H. Thieme,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
In Retrospect,
Soul Sonic Force,
Quadrant,
Harpers Bizarre,
Man Eating Sloth,
Pagans,
Vainqueur,
Banda Bassotti,
Roxy Music,
The American Breed,
The Moody Blues,
The Raincoats,
The Angels of Light,
Mission of Burma,
The Slits,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Darondo,
Section 25,
The Trojans,
Gichy Dan,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
R.M.O.,
Simply Red,
Black Flag,
The United States of America,
Jacques Brel,
The Techniques,
Carl Craig,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Crispian St. Peters,
Flash Fearless,
Outsiders,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Brick,
Dennis Brown,
Graham Central Station,
Eric Dolphy,
The Vogues,
Funky Four + One,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Smiths,
Soul II Soul,
Kenny Larkin,
Bobby Byrd,
Sister Nancy,
Crime,
Ralphi Rosario,
Rotary Connection,
The Golliwogs,
X-Ray Spex,
Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin.
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.