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 South Africa and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 oboe 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 Al Stewart to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Erasure. All the underground hits.
All Traffic Nightmare tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade 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 chamberlin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a New Order record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Loose Ends,
Wire,
Dead Boys,
The Martian,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Jeff Mills,
The Seeds,
Trumans Water,
Ten City,
The Cowsills,
Camberwell Now,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Marvin Gaye,
Simply Red,
Fugazi,
Make Up,
Bauhaus,
The Evens,
Bad Manners,
Mandrill,
Kevin Saunderson,
Black Moon,
Con Funk Shun,
Young Marble Giants,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Flesh Eaters,
Eve St. Jones,
Surgeon,
Scott Walker,
Gabor Szabo,
Warsaw,
Steve Hackett,
Unrelated Segments,
Magma,
H. Thieme,
Lou Reed,
Section 25,
Bang On A Can,
John Holt,
Eric Copeland,
Mars,
Los Fastidios,
The Neon Judgement,
Ronan,
Gang of Four,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Nick Fraelich,
Black Bananas,
The Sonics,
Rosa Yemen,
Joensuu 1685,
Bizarre Inc.,
Television,
Monks,
Arthur Verocai,
Marc Almond,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Joey Negro, Joey Negro, Joey Negro, Joey Negro.
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.