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 Ivory Coast and from Paris.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 the Human League to the disco 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 Suburban Knight. All the underground hits.
All Swell Maps tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Moon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nirvana,
The Evens,
Excepter,
Pharoah Sanders,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Japan,
Glambeats Corp.,
Glenn Branca,
Aaron Thompson,
The Walker Brothers,
Tropical Tobacco,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Quantec,
Alphaville,
T. Rex,
Gong,
Panda Bear,
Terrestrial Tones,
K-Klass,
Byron Stingily,
Stereo Dub,
The Red Krayola,
Erykah Badu,
Flamin' Groovies,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Peter and Kerry,
The Misunderstood,
Clear Light,
Brass Construction,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Smog,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Can,
Amon Düül,
Minnie Riperton,
Letta Mbulu,
Man Eating Sloth,
Desert Stars,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Angels of Light,
The Last Poets,
Matthew Halsall,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Lower 48,
The American Breed,
the Bar-Kays,
Nick Fraelich,
Dual Sessions,
Gang Gang Dance,
Minny Pops,
The Slackers,
Blossom Toes,
Porter Ricks,
Cluster,
Bluetip,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Livin' Joy,
The Shadows of Knight,
Black Flag,
D'Angelo,
Nation of Ulysses, Nation of Ulysses, Nation of Ulysses, Nation of Ulysses.
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.