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 Colombia and from Columbus.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 theremin 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 Gladiators to the grunge 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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All The Smoke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angry Samoans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a This Heat record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
The Blackbyrds,
Girls At Our Best!,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Peter and Kerry,
Arcadia,
Los Fastidios,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Fuzztones,
Man Parrish,
Kevin Saunderson,
Average White Band,
Dorothy Ashby,
8 Eyed Spy,
Cameo,
Fad Gadget,
Danielle Patucci,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
the Soft Cell,
Throbbing Gristle,
Outsiders,
Sound Behaviour,
Sugar Minott,
Crash Course in Science,
Quantec,
Boredoms,
Roger Hodgson,
Bluetip,
The Stooges,
The American Breed,
Niagra,
Skaos,
The Moleskins,
Skriet,
The Monks,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Fatback Band,
John Lydon,
K-Klass,
KRS-One,
Kenny Larkin,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Divine Comedy,
Black Bananas,
In Retrospect,
Robert Wyatt,
Rekid,
The Tremeloes,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Accadde A,
Smog,
Michelle Simonal,
Neu!,
The Seeds,
DJ Style,
The Young Rascals,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Evens,
Pere Ubu,
Bill Wells,
The Remains,
The Dave Clark Five,
Tim Buckley,
The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks.
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.