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 Honduras and from Tokyo.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Remains to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The Smiths. All the underground hits.
All Porter Ricks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispian St. Peters 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Yellowson,
Sexual Harrassment,
Mary Jane Girls,
Jeru the Damaja,
Siglo XX,
Kool Moe Dee,
Bobby Byrd,
Amon Düül,
The Detroit Cobras,
Roger Hodgson,
Peter and Kerry,
Peter & Gordon,
Tom Boy,
Derrick Morgan,
Monks,
Derrick May,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Beau Brummels,
Michelle Simonal,
Man Parrish,
the Fania All-Stars,
Al Stewart,
Gong,
Pere Ubu,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Soulsonic Force,
The Durutti Column,
Blake Baxter,
Severed Heads,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Jeff Lynne,
Rod Modell,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Eric Dolphy,
Popol Vuh,
Marshall Jefferson,
Sight & Sound,
X-101,
Black Moon,
New Order,
Maurizio,
Alphaville,
The Gun Club,
Patti Smith,
Dave Gahan,
The Alarm Clocks,
Von Mondo,
Boz Scaggs,
Index,
Wolf Eyes,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Fat Boys,
Grey Daturas,
Roy Ayers,
Marmalade,
Qualms,
The Trojans,
Rapeman,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Kayak,
Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu.
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.