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 Namibia and from Lyon.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 clarinet 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 Wolf Eyes to the grunge 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 London Community Gospel Choir. All the underground hits.
All Mantronix tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Henry Cow 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ 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 organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Howard Jones,
James Chance & The Contortions,
One Last Wish,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
La Düsseldorf,
Chris Corsano,
Barclay James Harvest,
Average White Band,
The Trojans,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Dorothy Ashby,
the Fania All-Stars,
Darondo,
The Angels of Light,
Blossom Toes,
Bang On A Can,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Bluetip,
Dead Boys,
Camberwell Now,
Throbbing Gristle,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Barbara Tucker,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Motions,
The Black Dice,
Bill Wells,
Gang Starr,
The Neon Judgement,
The Smiths,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sight & Sound,
The Five Americans,
New Order,
Skriet,
Stereo Dub,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Mars,
The Music Machine,
Crispian St. Peters,
D'Angelo,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Lindisfarne,
The Blackbyrds,
Excepter,
Davy DMX,
Ituana,
Ronan,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Harry Pussy,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Aural Exciters,
The Standells,
Iggy Pop,
The Red Krayola,
The Kinks,
Freddie Wadling,
the Association,
Drexciya,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Rites of Spring,
Spandau Ballet, Spandau Ballet, Spandau Ballet, Spandau Ballet.
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.