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 India and from Woodstock.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Index to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All The Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Von Mondo record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Howard Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultimate Spinach,
Cecil Taylor,
Camberwell Now,
Das Ding,
Con Funk Shun,
The J.B.'s,
Moby Grape,
Warsaw,
Wasted Youth,
Yazoo,
Cymande,
The Misunderstood,
Lou Reed,
Marc Almond,
Barrington Levy,
E-Dancer,
Barclay James Harvest,
Zero Boys,
Brand Nubian,
Eve St. Jones,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Marmalade,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Index,
These Immortal Souls,
Nils Olav,
Brothers Johnson,
L. Decosne,
Bluetip,
Robert Hood,
La Düsseldorf,
The Slits,
Scion,
Los Fastidios,
Ultra Naté,
Morten Harket,
Groovy Waters,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Sam Rivers,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Jawbox,
Nation of Ulysses,
Warren Ellis,
Blancmange,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Ornette Coleman,
Kerri Chandler,
Q65,
The Move,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Moss Icon,
the Germs,
Yellowson,
DJ Style,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
MC5,
Mission of Burma,
Crispy Ambulance,
Faust,
The Offenders,
The Evens,
Chris & Cosey, Chris & Cosey, Chris & Cosey, Chris & Cosey.
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.