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 Namibia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Robert Wyatt to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Malaria!. All the underground hits.
All The Pop Group tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Toasters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 marimba and a synthesizer 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 güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
Malaria!,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Tubeway Army,
Stetsasonic,
The Busters,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Con Funk Shun,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Depeche Mode,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Residents,
the Bar-Kays,
Letta Mbulu,
Alphaville,
Radio Birdman,
Severed Heads,
Eric B and Rakim,
X-102,
Nation of Ulysses,
Reagan Youth,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
H. Thieme,
Toni Rubio,
Echospace,
Kenny Larkin,
Spoonie Gee,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Lucky Dragons,
The Move,
Parry Music,
Peter & Gordon,
Scion,
Saccharine Trust,
Frankie Knuckles,
Cameo,
Deakin,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Royal Trux,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Mandrill,
Gang Gang Dance,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Last Poets,
Slick Rick,
The New Christs,
Symarip,
JFA,
Marshall Jefferson,
Boogie Down Productions,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Human League,
Al Stewart,
The Mummies,
Laurel Aitken,
David Axelrod,
Crispy Ambulance,
Kaleidoscope,
Mr. Review,
Pharoah Sanders, Pharoah Sanders, Pharoah Sanders, Pharoah Sanders.
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.