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 Angola and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 arpeggiator 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 Juan Atkins to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Trumans Water. All the underground hits.
All Bootsy's Rubber Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Schoolly D record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Golliwogs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marmalade,
Bang On A Can,
Terrestrial Tones,
Interpol,
The Gun Club,
The Slits,
The Martian,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Cheater Slicks,
Frankie Knuckles,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Human League,
Gang Green,
Trumans Water,
Bobby Sherman,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Letta Mbulu,
CMW,
Bluetip,
The Gories,
Toni Rubio,
Model 500,
Half Japanese,
Smog,
Moby Grape,
the Swans,
Hashim,
Jeff Lynne,
Spandau Ballet,
a-ha,
Inner City,
Tropical Tobacco,
Eve St. Jones,
Second Layer,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Bronski Beat,
Johnny Clarke,
The Offenders,
Cameo,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
the Normal,
Eddi Front,
The Knickerbockers,
Soulsonic Force,
Gerry Rafferty,
Eden Ahbez,
The Fugs,
Barrington Levy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Index,
The Red Krayola,
Section 25,
Masters at Work,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The J.B.'s,
David Axelrod,
The Real Kids,
Outsiders,
Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron.
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.