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 Saudi Arabia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Sandy B to the grunge 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 Eli Mardock. All the underground hits.
All Pantytec tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Qualms 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a sitar 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 spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Lyres,
Livin' Joy,
The Gladiators,
Theoretical Girls,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Mark Hollis,
Yazoo,
The Flesh Eaters,
Babytalk,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Shadows of Knight,
Reuben Wilson,
Mars,
Donald Byrd,
Underground Resistance,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Brick,
A Certain Ratio,
Nation of Ulysses,
Big Daddy Kane,
John Coltrane,
The Detroit Cobras,
DJ Style,
Jandek,
Electric Prunes,
The Motions,
Franke,
Don Cherry,
The Velvet Underground,
Magazine,
Pulsallama,
The Cramps,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Fuzztones,
Icehouse,
Eden Ahbez,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Residents,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Joyce Sims,
Kaleidoscope,
Archie Shepp,
Deepchord,
The Divine Comedy,
Au Pairs,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Scion,
David Bowie,
Metal Thangz,
Drexciya,
Tommy Roe,
Grey Daturas,
Public Enemy,
Wolf Eyes,
Nico,
Oblivians,
The Skatalites,
Radiohead,
John Foxx,
Anakelly,
The Golliwogs,
Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon.
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.