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 Sierra Leone and from Calgary.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Minnie Riperton to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Kerrie Biddell. All the underground hits.
All The Associates tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Colin Newman 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang On A Can,
Ituana,
The Electric Prunes,
Brass Construction,
The Cure,
Prince Buster,
Thompson Twins,
The Associates,
Minutemen,
Tubeway Army,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Rod Modell,
The Dead C,
Pulsallama,
The Names,
Siglo XX,
Tomorrow,
Kevin Saunderson,
Johnny Osbourne,
Laurel Aitken,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Leaves,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Harpers Bizarre,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Sexual Harrassment,
Erykah Badu,
CMW,
Bluetip,
Nirvana,
The Barracudas,
Ice-T,
Ten City,
Gang of Four,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Sixth Finger,
Arcadia,
The Vogues,
The Velvet Underground,
Schoolly D,
Yellowson,
New Order,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Television Personalities,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Make Up,
Eric B and Rakim,
Rites of Spring,
Black Moon,
John Lydon,
Throbbing Gristle,
Man Eating Sloth,
This Heat,
Boredoms,
The Human League,
The J.B.'s,
The Toasters,
X-101,
Khruangbin,
Bad Manners,
Simply Red,
Bill Near, Bill Near, Bill Near, Bill Near.
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.