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 Ethiopia and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Judy Mowatt to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Mary Jane Girls. All the underground hits.
All Robert Wyatt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marshall Jefferson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Surgeon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hoover,
Talk Talk,
Pere Ubu,
Gong,
Bobby Sherman,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Dead Boys,
Agitation Free,
Basic Channel,
Eurythmics,
Eric B and Rakim,
Porter Ricks,
Faraquet,
Panda Bear,
Laurel Aitken,
Angry Samoans,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Blackbyrds,
Dual Sessions,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Tremeloes,
The Young Rascals,
L. Decosne,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Cowsills,
Matthew Bourne,
Monks,
Byron Stingily,
Patti Smith,
This Heat,
Brass Construction,
Make Up,
Lou Reed,
The Blues Magoos,
Depeche Mode,
Shoche,
Bronski Beat,
Harry Pussy,
Grey Daturas,
Wally Richardson,
Sugar Minott,
Negative Approach,
Janne Schatter,
Television,
Minor Threat,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Barrington Levy,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Franke,
Wasted Youth,
John Foxx,
The Alarm Clocks,
Main Source,
Los Fastidios,
Minutemen,
Siglo XX,
Cybotron,
Leonard Cohen,
Excepter,
the Normal,
Stereo Dub,
Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop.
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.