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 Malaysia and from Accra.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Throbbing Gristle to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Barbara Tucker. All the underground hits.
All The Trojans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Anthony Braxton record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gichy Dan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultimate Spinach,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
David McCallum,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Roger Hodgson,
Roy Ayers,
Television Personalities,
Fat Boys,
Amon Düül,
Lyres,
Oneida,
Brass Construction,
E-Dancer,
The Fortunes,
Bob Dylan,
The Fuzztones,
World's Most,
Drive Like Jehu,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Evens,
Gastr Del Sol,
Grey Daturas,
Gong,
Don Cherry,
The Young Rascals,
Roxy Music,
Dennis Brown,
Interpol,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
John Foxx,
The Techniques,
Pussy Galore,
The Gladiators,
Todd Terry,
Eddi Front,
Junior Murvin,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Can,
Andrew Hill,
Wire,
Big Daddy Kane,
Hoover,
Althea and Donna,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Sound,
David Bowie,
Moss Icon,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
8 Eyed Spy,
Lou Christie,
Tres Demented,
Marmalade,
Tim Buckley,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Slackers,
Lalann,
The Fire Engines,
Clear Light,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Soul II Soul,
The Monks, The Monks, The Monks, The Monks.
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.