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 Liberia and from Sao Paulo.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the rhodes 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 The Remains to the rock 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 Rufus Thomas. All the underground hits.
All Black Bananas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Gladiators 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pop Group record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Davy DMX,
Heaven 17,
Crooked Eye,
Wolf Eyes,
Icehouse,
Los Fastidios,
Anakelly,
Drive Like Jehu,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Tommy Roe,
Hoover,
The Monks,
Hasil Adkins,
Blancmange,
The Tremeloes,
Jeru the Damaja,
Ponytail,
Vainqueur,
Godley & Creme,
Tears for Fears,
Harmonia,
Minny Pops,
Robert Görl,
Susan Cadogan,
Eric B and Rakim,
Cybotron,
David McCallum,
H. Thieme,
Jeff Lynne,
The Smoke,
The Fuzztones,
Moss Icon,
Dual Sessions,
Arthur Verocai,
Scratch Acid,
Tres Demented,
Laurel Aitken,
Warren Ellis,
Spoonie Gee,
The Victims,
Sexual Harrassment,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Scion,
Throbbing Gristle,
Judy Mowatt,
Mantronix,
Ohio Players,
the Swans,
Soft Machine,
The Fortunes,
Skaos,
Aswad,
Blake Baxter,
Wire,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
the Soft Cell,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Robert Hood,
Sam Rivers,
Surgeon,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Janne Schatter, Janne Schatter, Janne Schatter, Janne Schatter.
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.