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 Australia and from Johannesburg.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Thompson Twins to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Bootsy's Rubber Band. All the underground hits.
All Inner City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roy Ayers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 theremin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Juan Atkins record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kerri Chandler,
John Coltrane,
Rosa Yemen,
Outsiders,
Jerry's Kids,
Bauhaus,
Josef K,
DNA,
Duran Duran,
Dennis Brown,
F. McDonald,
The Music Machine,
The United States of America,
Dave Gahan,
Tommy Roe,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Boredoms,
Ultravox,
Todd Terry,
Young Marble Giants,
Electric Prunes,
The Walker Brothers,
The Tremeloes,
Nirvana,
The American Breed,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Human League,
Michelle Simonal,
Quantec,
Sonny Sharrock,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Aural Exciters,
Charles Mingus,
the Sonics,
The Offenders,
Ohio Players,
Lungfish,
Pulsallama,
Scion,
The Stooges,
Camberwell Now,
B.T. Express,
Quadrant,
The Fire Engines,
Procol Harum,
Bobby Byrd,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
T. Rex,
Tomorrow,
Freddie Wadling,
This Heat,
Peter and Kerry,
Chris & Cosey,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Grey Daturas,
Slave,
Carl Craig,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Newcleus, Newcleus, Newcleus, Newcleus.
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.