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 Papua New Guinea and from Manchester.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 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 T.S.O.L. to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Kings Of Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All These Immortal Souls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Eating Sloth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Hoover record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
One Last Wish,
Terrestrial Tones,
ABC,
Nick Fraelich,
The Flesh Eaters,
Boz Scaggs,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Spandau Ballet,
Lakeside,
Michelle Simonal,
Hardrive,
Eden Ahbez,
Sonic Youth,
The Misunderstood,
Pet Shop Boys,
Skarface,
Suicide,
Oneida,
Fela Kuti,
The Index,
Blake Baxter,
Faraquet,
Sun City Girls,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Selecter,
Hot Snakes,
Motorama,
Angry Samoans,
The Electric Prunes,
New Age Steppers,
Donny Hathaway,
Main Source,
Sexual Harrassment,
John Lydon,
Pussy Galore,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Donald Byrd,
Josef K,
The Wake,
Gastr Del Sol,
Au Pairs,
Stetsasonic,
Accadde A,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Mantronix,
The Last Poets,
Yaz,
Graham Central Station,
Delta 5,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Depeche Mode,
Grandmaster Flash,
the Slits,
Ludus,
Peter & Gordon,
The Litter,
Matthew Bourne,
PIL, PIL, PIL, PIL.
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.