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 Taiwan and from Cairo.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Lungfish to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Moss Icon. All the underground hits.
All Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Silicon Teens record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Reagan Youth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Lyres,
Throbbing Gristle,
Glambeats Corp.,
Young Marble Giants,
The Music Machine,
Niagra,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Alarm Clocks,
Terrestrial Tones,
Glenn Branca,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The J.B.'s,
Porter Ricks,
Lakeside,
the Fania All-Stars,
Warsaw,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Trumans Water,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
F. McDonald,
Jimmy McGriff,
Chrome,
Nils Olav,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Neon Judgement,
The Kinks,
Todd Rundgren,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Trojans,
La Düsseldorf,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Sonics,
The American Breed,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Alison Limerick,
The Durutti Column,
Cal Tjader,
Bizarre Inc.,
Yaz,
Icehouse,
a-ha,
Susan Cadogan,
The Pop Group,
Sällskapet,
Pantaleimon,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Delta 5,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Henry Cow,
OOIOO,
The Raincoats,
Joe Finger,
The United States of America,
The Electric Prunes,
Scan 7,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Real Kids,
Chris Corsano,
China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis.
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.