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 Tonga and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Lille.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Excepter 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 cv313. All the underground hits.
All Warren Ellis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hoover record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slackers,
Ten City,
Spandau Ballet,
Royal Trux,
Tubeway Army,
The Birthday Party,
Frankie Knuckles,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Bobby Byrd,
Gang of Four,
The Smoke,
Harry Pussy,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Brick,
Sex Pistols,
Lyres,
Tres Demented,
Black Sheep,
Boz Scaggs,
Clear Light,
Zero Boys,
Funky Four + One,
Max Romeo,
H. Thieme,
Pulsallama,
Blossom Toes,
Alison Limerick,
The Moody Blues,
Black Pus,
Jerry's Kids,
The Red Krayola,
Scott Walker,
Ultimate Spinach,
Talk Talk,
Jimmy McGriff,
Scan 7,
Buzzcocks,
Suicide,
Prince Buster,
Soul II Soul,
Dawn Penn,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Smiths,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Marvin Gaye,
The New Christs,
It's A Beautiful Day,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Dave Clark Five,
Gong,
Minutemen,
Byron Stingily,
Ohio Players,
Index,
The Martian,
Stiv Bators,
The Golliwogs,
Danielle Patucci,
Wings,
Marmalade,
Moss Icon,
Robert Görl,
Metal Thangz, Metal Thangz, Metal Thangz, Metal Thangz.
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.