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 Slovenia and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 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 FM Einheit to the disco 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 Buzzcocks. All the underground hits.
All Delta 5 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jesper Dahlback record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 theremin and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dead Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pylon,
Aloha Tigers,
Spandau Ballet,
The Raincoats,
Motorama,
The Martian,
CMW,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Shadows of Knight,
Bob Dylan,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Black Pus,
Blake Baxter,
The Names,
Tears for Fears,
Cymande,
Livin' Joy,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Avey Tare,
Bill Wells,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Cluster,
Matthew Bourne,
Make Up,
Frankie Knuckles,
Marshall Jefferson,
Chris & Cosey,
The Evens,
Bush Tetras,
The Sonics,
Peter and Kerry,
Lee Hazlewood,
AZ,
Banda Bassotti,
Little Man,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Severed Heads,
Stetsasonic,
Delta 5,
Crime,
Roxette,
Nik Kershaw,
E-Dancer,
Echospace,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Eve St. Jones,
Wire,
Slick Rick,
Moss Icon,
Max Romeo,
Model 500,
Amon Düül II,
Simply Red,
New York Dolls,
Slave,
Electric Prunes,
Hashim,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Scientists,
Unwound,
Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys.
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.