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 St Kitts & Nevis and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Roy Ayers Ubiquity to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Black Pus. All the underground hits.
All Section 25 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Suburban Knight 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grauzone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Harry Pussy,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Y Pants,
Soft Machine,
Rod Modell,
Pere Ubu,
Rosa Yemen,
Lebanon Hanover,
8 Eyed Spy,
Fat Boys,
The United States of America,
Soulsonic Force,
The Motions,
Charles Mingus,
Black Pus,
The Stooges,
Max Romeo,
Fatback Band,
The Cure,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Gichy Dan,
Malaria!,
Mars,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Rhythm & Sound,
Monks,
the Soft Cell,
The Seeds,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Rapeman,
Qualms,
Jeff Lynne,
Joe Finger,
Kool Moe Dee,
Reuben Wilson,
Eden Ahbez,
Angry Samoans,
Anakelly,
Shoche,
Stereo Dub,
Swans,
Dave Gahan,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Mandrill,
Man Eating Sloth,
Aaron Thompson,
Altered Images,
A Certain Ratio,
Girls At Our Best!,
H. Thieme,
Nirvana,
Deepchord,
Robert Wyatt,
Crispian St. Peters,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Minutemen,
Ponytail,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Tubeway Army,
Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra.
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.