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 Lesotho and from Spokane.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Erasure to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Chris & Cosey. All the underground hits.
All Organ tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Gladiators record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scott Walker record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Camouflage,
Rites of Spring,
Fort Wilson Riot,
the Germs,
The Techniques,
The Martian,
The Monochrome Set,
Sällskapet,
The Buckinghams,
Wally Richardson,
Skaos,
Joyce Sims,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Royal Trux,
Little Man,
Black Moon,
Skriet,
Drexciya,
Ten City,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Brand Nubian,
Blossom Toes,
Todd Terry,
Morten Harket,
Kool Moe Dee,
Reuben Wilson,
Soulsonic Force,
Sex Pistols,
The Residents,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Nirvana,
The Blackbyrds,
John Coltrane,
The Alarm Clocks,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Khruangbin,
R.M.O.,
The Human League,
Accadde A,
The Detroit Cobras,
Barclay James Harvest,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
kango's stein massive,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
David McCallum,
Clear Light,
The Doors,
Jeru the Damaja,
Arthur Verocai,
B.T. Express,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Connie Case,
Magma,
the Sonics,
Nico,
The Names,
Scratch Acid,
Tommy Roe,
Theoretical Girls,
Minor Threat,
Ultravox,
Lindisfarne,
Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd.
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.