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 Austria and from Accra.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the 808 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 Public Enemy to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Modern Lovers. All the underground hits.
All Gang Gang Dance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Stiv Bators record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Buzzcocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Banda Bassotti,
Rhythm & Sound,
Drive Like Jehu,
Blossom Toes,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The United States of America,
The Cowsills,
cv313,
The Velvet Underground,
The American Breed,
Tropical Tobacco,
Crispian St. Peters,
EPMD,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Birthday Party,
Cymande,
Marine Girls,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Rod Modell,
Ronnie Foster,
Subhumans,
The Stooges,
Joensuu 1685,
Mission of Burma,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Yellowson,
Marvin Gaye,
OOIOO,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Crispy Ambulance,
Deepchord,
Wally Richardson,
Desert Stars,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Sonny Sharrock,
June of 44,
Wire,
Colin Newman,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Marc Almond,
The Doors,
Eric Copeland,
Patti Smith,
Soft Cell,
Joe Smooth,
Roger Hodgson,
Harmonia,
Man Eating Sloth,
Boredoms,
Organ,
Max Romeo,
Crime,
The Electric Prunes,
Ultimate Spinach,
Derrick Morgan,
Scratch Acid,
Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman.
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.