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 Moldova and from Copenhagen.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Five Americans to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Red Krayola. All the underground hits.
All Carl Craig tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Victims record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Glambeats Corp. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ultravox,
The American Breed,
Pylon,
The Stooges,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Durutti Column,
Eyeless In Gaza,
DJ Sneak,
The Grass Roots,
The Sound,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Marc Almond,
Liliput,
ABC,
Niagra,
Underground Resistance,
The Martian,
Deepchord,
Rekid,
Ossler,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Minny Pops,
Warren Ellis,
Robert Görl,
Alison Limerick,
Mo-Dettes,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Searchers,
Joy Division,
Stetsasonic,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Alarm Clocks,
Accadde A,
L. Decosne,
Magma,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bauhaus,
Boogie Down Productions,
Barclay James Harvest,
Idris Muhammad,
Michelle Simonal,
Camouflage,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Raincoats,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Terrestrial Tones,
Prince Buster,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Rotary Connection,
Man Parrish,
Jeff Mills,
Duran Duran,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Tremeloes,
The Golliwogs,
the Sonics,
Robert Hood,
Joey Negro,
The Beau Brummels,
The Dirtbombs,
T. Rex, T. Rex, T. Rex, T. Rex.
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.