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 Montenegro and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 oboe 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 Tropical Tobacco to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 The Searchers. All the underground hits.
All B.T. Express tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mo-Dettes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
8 Eyed Spy,
Little Man,
Pet Shop Boys,
Black Bananas,
The Human League,
10cc,
Stereo Dub,
Interpol,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Panda Bear,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Faust,
Pagans,
Sandy B,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Sugar Minott,
June of 44,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Aaron Thompson,
Pantaleimon,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Leaves,
CMW,
Godley & Creme,
The Golliwogs,
The Residents,
Symarip,
Index,
Sällskapet,
Pussy Galore,
Arthur Verocai,
Marc Almond,
Graham Central Station,
Kurtis Blow,
Dave Gahan,
Agent Orange,
Royal Trux,
Scion,
Lou Reed,
Franke,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Jeff Mills,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Masters at Work,
Stockholm Monsters,
Amazonics,
Ralphi Rosario,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Gang Starr,
Moebius,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Bob Dylan,
Wire,
The Fortunes,
The Sonics,
Tommy Roe,
Wasted Youth,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses.
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.