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 Kenya and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 theremin 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 Justin Hinds & The Dominoes to the rap 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 Cameo. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angry Samoans 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Howard Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Little Man,
The Techniques,
Johnny Osbourne,
Livin' Joy,
Deadbeat,
The Selecter,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Five Americans,
Heaven 17,
The Trojans,
Saccharine Trust,
Shoche,
Tears for Fears,
Crime,
Pantytec,
the Fania All-Stars,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Tim Buckley,
Bang On A Can,
Banda Bassotti,
Roger Hodgson,
Vainqueur,
Organ,
Barbara Tucker,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Godley & Creme,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Jerry's Kids,
Average White Band,
Oblivians,
Rufus Thomas,
The Cramps,
The Human League,
Ronan,
Pierre Henry,
Fela Kuti,
The Last Poets,
Donny Hathaway,
Cluster,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Warren Ellis,
The Residents,
Gabor Szabo,
Sugar Minott,
Bad Manners,
The Wake,
Second Layer,
Sparks,
Visage,
Dorothy Ashby,
Scott Walker,
Symarip,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Smiths,
Delon & Dalcan,
Jeru the Damaja,
Isaac Hayes,
Lalo Schifrin,
FM Einheit,
Das Ding,
Toni Rubio,
Interpol, Interpol, Interpol, Interpol.
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.