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 Bahrain 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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Edmonton.
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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the 808 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 Tropical Tobacco to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Busters. All the underground hits.
All Whodini tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Mummies record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Popol Vuh record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Goldenarms,
E-Dancer,
H. Thieme,
Heaven 17,
Quando Quango,
Black Pus,
Mary Jane Girls,
Susan Cadogan,
The Victims,
John Cale,
Marine Girls,
The Smoke,
David McCallum,
Tubeway Army,
Anthony Braxton,
The Slits,
The Detroit Cobras,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Inner City,
DNA,
Wire,
Gil Scott Heron,
Loose Ends,
Popol Vuh,
Nas,
Theoretical Girls,
The American Breed,
Bill Wells,
The United States of America,
The Velvet Underground,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Amazonics,
Joensuu 1685,
Alison Limerick,
Skriet,
Man Parrish,
Cheater Slicks,
Harry Pussy,
Bluetip,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Ten City,
Glenn Branca,
Depeche Mode,
KRS-One,
The Divine Comedy,
The Sound,
In Retrospect,
T. Rex,
Black Bananas,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Roxy Music,
Talk Talk,
Soulsonic Force,
Chrome,
Royal Trux,
Fela Kuti,
Eric B and Rakim,
Black Sheep,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Procol Harum,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Flamin' Groovies,
Camouflage,
Freddie Wadling, Freddie Wadling, Freddie Wadling, Freddie Wadling.
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.