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 Latvia and from New York.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Bremen.
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 güiro 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 Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Iggy Pop. All the underground hits.
All The Gun Club tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every John Holt record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Searchers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
June of 44,
EPMD,
David Bowie,
X-102,
Nick Fraelich,
The Move,
One Last Wish,
Sister Nancy,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Warren Ellis,
Q65,
Max Romeo,
Boz Scaggs,
Isaac Hayes,
The Velvet Underground,
ABBA,
Excepter,
Marcia Griffiths,
Howard Jones,
The Divine Comedy,
Roxy Music,
Mission of Burma,
Kerri Chandler,
CMW,
Jacques Brel,
Robert Görl,
DJ Style,
Dawn Penn,
Barbara Tucker,
The Beau Brummels,
Don Cherry,
Pussy Galore,
Althea and Donna,
Wolf Eyes,
Anthony Braxton,
Silicon Teens,
Lightning Bolt,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Shuggie Otis,
MC5,
Malaria!,
Gichy Dan,
The Buckinghams,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Girls At Our Best!,
Ponytail,
Blake Baxter,
Spoonie Gee,
New Order,
Eli Mardock,
Popol Vuh,
Neu!,
The Victims,
La Düsseldorf,
Tres Demented,
Freddie Wadling,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Young Rascals,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Jerry's Kids,
Radiohead, Radiohead, Radiohead, Radiohead.
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.