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 Malaysia and from Jakarta.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Fuzztones to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme. All the underground hits.
All OOIOO tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rapeman 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Electric Prunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minutemen,
The Grass Roots,
The Slits,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Dave Gahan,
Cybotron,
Wasted Youth,
Skarface,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Franke,
Scrapy,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Outsiders,
Jacques Brel,
Neu!,
Bizarre Inc.,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Glenn Branca,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Gong,
the Swans,
Silicon Teens,
The Dead C,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Hashim,
Rekid,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Q65,
World's Most,
Grandmaster Flash,
Fat Boys,
Soft Cell,
The Happenings,
the Sonics,
Oblivians,
Electric Prunes,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Gregory Isaacs,
Max Romeo,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Roy Ayers,
Masters at Work,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Wally Richardson,
Derrick Morgan,
DNA,
Crispy Ambulance,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Reagan Youth,
The Modern Lovers,
Harry Pussy,
The Raincoats,
The Move,
The Zeros,
A Certain Ratio,
Andrew Hill,
The Cure,
Minny Pops,
Shuggie Otis,
Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin.
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.