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 Kuwait and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 marimba 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 Minnie Riperton to the techno 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 The Skatalites. All the underground hits.
All Absolute Body Control tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pet Shop Boys 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dead C 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?
The Sisters of Mercy,
Fear,
Los Fastidios,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Lindisfarne,
The Pretty Things,
The Index,
Magazine,
Trumans Water,
The Monks,
The Slackers,
Supertramp,
X-101,
Bobby Byrd,
Avey Tare,
Matthew Bourne,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
K-Klass,
Tres Demented,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Quando Quango,
Flipper,
The Dead C,
Franke,
Ronan,
Zapp,
Gregory Isaacs,
Make Up,
Urselle,
The Gories,
Kenny Larkin,
Animal Collective,
Black Bananas,
Traffic Nightmare,
Mars,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Last Poets,
The Real Kids,
Tubeway Army,
Judy Mowatt,
Circle Jerks,
Wire,
Jerry's Kids,
Rosa Yemen,
John Holt,
The Fortunes,
Kayak,
Graham Central Station,
Kurtis Blow,
The Beau Brummels,
Maurizio,
The Angels of Light,
Young Marble Giants,
Fad Gadget,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Amazonics,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Happenings,
Patti Smith,
Bauhaus,
Joyce Sims,
The Associates,
Leonard Cohen,
The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds.
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.