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 Yemen and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 theremin 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 Colin Newman to the dance 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 Saccharine Trust. All the underground hits.
All The Shadows of Knight tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bill Near record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 a theremin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Model 500 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
H. Thieme,
The Divine Comedy,
The Associates,
The Dead C,
8 Eyed Spy,
Sam Rivers,
T. Rex,
Q and Not U,
Easy Going,
Wally Richardson,
Boredoms,
The Slackers,
The Vogues,
Yaz,
The Detroit Cobras,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Ohio Players,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Gories,
The Fortunes,
Rosa Yemen,
Aloha Tigers,
Duran Duran,
Deepchord,
Suburban Knight,
Cybotron,
Hashim,
Howard Jones,
The United States of America,
Adolescents,
Colin Newman,
The Velvet Underground,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Sandy B,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Gastr Del Sol,
Jimmy McGriff,
Nirvana,
The Blackbyrds,
Cal Tjader,
Tim Buckley,
The Electric Prunes,
The Remains,
Letta Mbulu,
Radiohead,
Malaria!,
The Martian,
Oneida,
Procol Harum,
Dawn Penn,
Tommy Roe,
Jacques Brel,
The Modern Lovers,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Intrusion,
Pylon,
The Smiths,
The Monks,
John Cale,
Little Man,
The Tremeloes,
Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow.
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.