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 Burkina and from New York.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Jeru the Damaja to the crunk 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 The Associates. All the underground hits.
All Slave tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bizarre Inc. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scan 7 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lou Reed,
8 Eyed Spy,
Pole,
The Misunderstood,
Mission of Burma,
Soft Cell,
Bill Wells,
The Litter,
Mad Mike,
The Cure,
Yellowson,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Ultra Naté,
Eric Dolphy,
Barrington Levy,
Arthur Verocai,
Boz Scaggs,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Pylon,
Alton Ellis,
Lalann,
Peter & Gordon,
Mr. Review,
Altered Images,
Television,
Neil Young,
Hasil Adkins,
Jacques Brel,
Rakim,
Steve Hackett,
Tres Demented,
Quantec,
The Happenings,
Nas,
Scrapy,
Talk Talk,
Max Romeo,
the Germs,
Blancmange,
Gichy Dan,
June of 44,
The Names,
Masters at Work,
Underground Resistance,
Stiv Bators,
Loose Ends,
Severed Heads,
Infiniti,
Bobby Sherman,
Babytalk,
Bad Manners,
Frankie Knuckles,
Rosa Yemen,
ABBA,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Little Man,
David Bowie,
The Birthday Party,
Ultravox,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Agent Orange,
Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat.
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.