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 Spain and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Houston.
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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 These Immortal Souls to the grunge 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 Carl Craig. All the underground hits.
All Cabaret Voltaire tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Drexciya 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sound,
Depeche Mode,
David McCallum,
Hardrive,
the Fania All-Stars,
John Cale,
James White and The Blacks,
Ponytail,
FM Einheit,
Black Moon,
Royal Trux,
The Last Poets,
Dave Gahan,
The Cure,
The Divine Comedy,
the Human League,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Alphaville,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Rites of Spring,
Lee Hazlewood,
Ituana,
Nas,
Ultra Naté,
Simply Red,
Drive Like Jehu,
Delta 5,
Roy Ayers,
the Germs,
Crime,
Steve Hackett,
Animal Collective,
Bobby Byrd,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Fugs,
Eli Mardock,
the Normal,
Faust,
DJ Sneak,
Ten City,
The Misunderstood,
The Star Department,
Technova,
Henry Cow,
Bootsy Collins,
Stockholm Monsters,
Drexciya,
Derrick May,
The Busters,
Rekid,
Siglo XX,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Blossom Toes,
Buzzcocks,
Hashim,
Yellowson,
Spoonie Gee,
The Moody Blues,
Dawn Penn,
Minny Pops,
Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy.
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.