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 Iran and from Cairo.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Roxette to the jazz 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 Reagan Youth. All the underground hits.
All Surgeon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Infiniti 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 chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scott Walker record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Make Up,
Heaven 17,
Ice-T,
the Normal,
T. Rex,
Das Ding,
Scott Walker,
Piero Umiliani,
Prince Buster,
Harry Pussy,
Au Pairs,
D'Angelo,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Sex Pistols,
The Dead C,
Soul II Soul,
Animal Collective,
Jimmy McGriff,
Tres Demented,
The Black Dice,
Von Mondo,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
K-Klass,
Gerry Rafferty,
June Days,
The Red Krayola,
Jacques Brel,
The Litter,
The Happenings,
The Searchers,
Peter and Kerry,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Brothers Johnson,
The Young Rascals,
Girls At Our Best!,
Jerry's Kids,
The Music Machine,
Public Image Ltd.,
Sister Nancy,
Urselle,
Charles Mingus,
Stetsasonic,
Bush Tetras,
Monolake,
Ronan,
Brick,
Tomorrow,
Bauhaus,
The Stooges,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Hot Snakes,
Lightning Bolt,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Technova,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Mars,
Pierre Henry,
Bootsy Collins,
Malaria!,
Amazonics,
The Beau Brummels,
Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images.
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.