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 Tuvalu and from Mumbai.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Residents to the electroclash 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 The Birthday Party. All the underground hits.
All The Vogues tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flipper record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gories record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Smog,
ABBA,
the Soft Cell,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Gun Club,
Anakelly,
Mission of Burma,
World's Most,
The Star Department,
Suburban Knight,
Guru Guru,
Junior Murvin,
Urselle,
Eddi Front,
Neu!,
Visage,
T.S.O.L.,
Barclay James Harvest,
Leonard Cohen,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Dirtbombs,
Pulsallama,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Terrestrial Tones,
Joey Negro,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Rotary Connection,
Henry Cow,
Amon Düül,
Andrew Hill,
Boredoms,
8 Eyed Spy,
Gil Scott Heron,
MC5,
Brass Construction,
Outsiders,
Chris & Cosey,
Joyce Sims,
Y Pants,
Jandek,
Nico,
Gerry Rafferty,
Pole,
Radio Birdman,
Susan Cadogan,
The Wake,
Pussy Galore,
The Misunderstood,
Connie Case,
Jeff Lynne,
FM Einheit,
The Smoke,
Cal Tjader,
Marmalade,
The Last Poets,
Mr. Review,
Warsaw,
June of 44,
The United States of America,
Basic Channel,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Steve Hackett,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.