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 Ethiopia and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Buzzcocks to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Masters at Work. All the underground hits.
All The Searchers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James Chance & The Contortions record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 an oboe and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultravox record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Duran Duran,
The Kinks,
Sex Pistols,
Radiopuhelimet,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Marine Girls,
Freddie Wadling,
New Order,
The Knickerbockers,
A Certain Ratio,
DJ Style,
Public Enemy,
Outsiders,
Flash Fearless,
Archie Shepp,
Motorama,
Eli Mardock,
The Gladiators,
Nation of Ulysses,
Scratch Acid,
Bobby Sherman,
B.T. Express,
Roxette,
The Fortunes,
ABBA,
Erykah Badu,
Jacques Brel,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Quantec,
Joe Finger,
Deepchord,
Alphaville,
Sixth Finger,
L. Decosne,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Human League,
Dennis Brown,
F. McDonald,
Eddi Front,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Remains,
Bizarre Inc.,
Half Japanese,
the Fania All-Stars,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Ludus,
Gichy Dan,
Smog,
The Black Dice,
Dead Boys,
Negative Approach,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
One Last Wish,
Ronan,
Throbbing Gristle,
Connie Case,
Rufus Thomas,
Warren Ellis,
Mantronix,
Rakim,
Nik Kershaw,
CMW, CMW, CMW, CMW.
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.