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 Oman and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Chocolate Watch Band to the rock 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 Ajijia Myrayebe. All the underground hits.
All The Sisters of Mercy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Music Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lindisfarne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
Roxy Music,
Don Cherry,
Minnie Riperton,
Crash Course in Science,
Lakeside,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Graham Central Station,
Harry Pussy,
Basic Channel,
Mantronix,
X-101,
Ultravox,
Camberwell Now,
Easy Going,
Essential Logic,
Gichy Dan,
Ohio Players,
Vladislav Delay,
Silicon Teens,
Josef K,
Eddi Front,
Maleditus Sound,
Hashim,
Oblivians,
The Star Department,
Matthew Bourne,
David Bowie,
The Residents,
Y Pants,
Idris Muhammad,
The Modern Lovers,
Kenny Larkin,
The Martian,
a-ha,
A Certain Ratio,
R.M.O.,
Monolake,
Sonic Youth,
Johnny Clarke,
Circle Jerks,
Tropical Tobacco,
Malaria!,
Duran Duran,
KRS-One,
kango's stein massive,
Ludus,
Quadrant,
Derrick Morgan,
Marc Almond,
Echospace,
The Black Dice,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Das Ding,
Ultra Naté,
The Five Americans,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Angry Samoans,
the Bar-Kays,
Barbara Tucker,
Ken Boothe,
Electric Prunes, Electric Prunes, Electric Prunes, Electric Prunes.
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.