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 Haiti and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 mellotron 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 Alison Limerick to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 United States of America. All the underground hits.
All Lightning Bolt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fire Engines 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nils Olav record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blancmange,
Crispian St. Peters,
China Crisis,
the Germs,
Bush Tetras,
Alton Ellis,
The Smiths,
Shuggie Otis,
R.M.O.,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Kas Product,
The Five Americans,
Nation of Ulysses,
Scion,
Stereo Dub,
Boredoms,
Bronski Beat,
Charles Mingus,
Main Source,
Pantytec,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Soft Machine,
The Red Krayola,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Bobby Byrd,
kango's stein massive,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Malaria!,
Barbara Tucker,
the Soft Cell,
The Happenings,
The United States of America,
Cluster,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Brand Nubian,
Spandau Ballet,
The Mojo Men,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ten City,
The Dead C,
Tres Demented,
Cheater Slicks,
World's Most,
Prince Buster,
The Techniques,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Godley & Creme,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Amazonics,
Todd Rundgren,
The Smoke,
The Saints,
The Mummies,
Warren Ellis,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Sugar Minott,
ABBA,
Todd Terry,
D'Angelo,
Black Flag,
David Axelrod,
Michelle Simonal,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Blackbyrds,
The Names, The Names, The Names, The Names.
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.