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 Zambia and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Human League to the disco 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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. All the underground hits.
All Throbbing Gristle tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Bananas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stetsasonic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Althea and Donna,
Eve St. Jones,
Adolescents,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Tres Demented,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Scratch Acid,
Buzzcocks,
Pagans,
Max Romeo,
The Raincoats,
The Durutti Column,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Spandau Ballet,
The Leaves,
It's A Beautiful Day,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bauhaus,
The Golliwogs,
Anthony Braxton,
Lower 48,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sonny Sharrock,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Roxette,
Colin Newman,
EPMD,
Lyres,
The Fall,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Half Japanese,
David Axelrod,
Rotary Connection,
Skarface,
Talk Talk,
Pylon,
Pussy Galore,
New York Dolls,
The Tremeloes,
Ronnie Foster,
Camouflage,
Sonic Youth,
Byron Stingily,
The Cramps,
Man Parrish,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Drexciya,
Babytalk,
Scrapy,
Lungfish,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Skaos,
Los Fastidios,
Blake Baxter,
Dark Day,
Magma,
Ken Boothe,
Grauzone,
the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell.
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.