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 Estonia and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 clarinet 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 Marcia Griffiths to the electroclash 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 Roger Hodgson. All the underground hits.
All Gang of Four tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jerry Gold Smith 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lou Reed 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?
Pierre Henry,
Nirvana,
David McCallum,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Pantytec,
Ludus,
The Count Five,
Crime,
the Human League,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Flash Fearless,
8 Eyed Spy,
Erasure,
DJ Sneak,
Bobby Byrd,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Raincoats,
The Dave Clark Five,
Wasted Youth,
Tom Boy,
Toni Rubio,
The Fortunes,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Amon Düül,
Kool Moe Dee,
Schoolly D,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
X-101,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Alice Coltrane,
Easy Going,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Peter and Kerry,
The Smiths,
Depeche Mode,
The Residents,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Unwound,
The Stooges,
The Mummies,
David Axelrod,
Young Marble Giants,
Sister Nancy,
Skriet,
The Pop Group,
Unrelated Segments,
Gil Scott Heron,
Scrapy,
The Electric Prunes,
Trumans Water,
Robert Hood,
Rekid,
Matthew Bourne,
Sight & Sound,
Cameo,
The Cramps,
Black Pus,
Roy Ayers,
Malaria!, Malaria!, Malaria!, Malaria!.
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.