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 Singapore and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 Michael McDonald 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 Dirtbombs to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch. All the underground hits.
All Ultra Naté tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Warsaw record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Mummies 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?
Fugazi,
Neil Young,
Deakin,
Niagra,
Barclay James Harvest,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Godley & Creme,
Isaac Hayes,
The Gladiators,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
B.T. Express,
DJ Style,
Janne Schatter,
Model 500,
The Birthday Party,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Slave,
Robert Görl,
Robert Hood,
Infiniti,
Alphaville,
U.S. Maple,
The Offenders,
Patti Smith,
Monolake,
Nation of Ulysses,
Ludus,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Scratch Acid,
The Sonics,
Skriet,
Kenny Larkin,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Star Department,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Kerrie Biddell,
Johnny Osbourne,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Dennis Brown,
Charles Mingus,
Sugar Minott,
Wolf Eyes,
Fear,
The Evens,
Barry Ungar,
The Electric Prunes,
Thee Headcoats,
The Martian,
The Pretty Things,
T.S.O.L.,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Trumans Water,
The Move,
James White and The Blacks,
The Beau Brummels,
Ten City,
Pussy Galore,
Magazine,
Lalo Schifrin,
Skarface,
The Real Kids, The Real Kids, The Real Kids, The Real Kids.
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.