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 Tajikistan and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in 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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 mellotron 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 Scott Walker to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 8 Eyed Spy. All the underground hits.
All Rosa Yemen tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Youth Brigade 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jacques Brel record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Remains,
Derrick May,
Pylon,
The Selecter,
Donald Byrd,
Eric Copeland,
the Germs,
Mo-Dettes,
Fatback Band,
Boz Scaggs,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The New Christs,
Fugazi,
Blossom Toes,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Pop Group,
Ice-T,
Ultravox,
Gong,
Neil Young,
The Grass Roots,
Pet Shop Boys,
Underground Resistance,
Lee Hazlewood,
Kas Product,
Sixth Finger,
Kayak,
The Toasters,
Section 25,
Pierre Henry,
Thee Headcoats,
The Golliwogs,
The Young Rascals,
the Slits,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Guru Guru,
The Pretty Things,
Wasted Youth,
the Fania All-Stars,
Lindisfarne,
Pole,
Deepchord,
F. McDonald,
Roxette,
The Music Machine,
The Monks,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Techniques,
June of 44,
T. Rex,
Altered Images,
Masters at Work,
the Sonics,
Godley & Creme,
Bluetip,
Franke,
The Gories,
The Five Americans,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Joy Division,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud, Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud, Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud, Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud.
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.