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 Comoros and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 David Bowie 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 Symarip to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Ludus. All the underground hits.
All Pagans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lower 48 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a H. Thieme 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?
Fort Wilson Riot,
Moebius,
Hardrive,
K-Klass,
Alice Coltrane,
R.M.O.,
The Golliwogs,
The Last Poets,
Vladislav Delay,
Yazoo,
Cymande,
T.S.O.L.,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Electric Prunes,
The Kinks,
Patti Smith,
AZ,
B.T. Express,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Trumans Water,
The Tremeloes,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Talk Talk,
Yellowson,
Sandy B,
Warren Ellis,
Inner City,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Buckinghams,
Nico,
Howard Jones,
Popol Vuh,
Morten Harket,
Wasted Youth,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Dual Sessions,
June Days,
Slick Rick,
Hashim,
Stiv Bators,
Radiopuhelimet,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Pantaleimon,
The Names,
The Fuzztones,
10cc,
Mantronix,
the Association,
Brass Construction,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Tommy Roe,
Japan,
Lee Hazlewood,
Tres Demented,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Babytalk,
Gang of Four,
Jawbox,
Surgeon,
Roy Ayers,
Jacques Brel,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.