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 Turkmenistan and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 J.B.'s to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Pagans. All the underground hits.
All Ohio Players tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Richard Hell and the Voidoids 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pretty Things record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
World's Most,
Johnny Clarke,
Sex Pistols,
Ponytail,
Bobbi Humphrey,
R.M.O.,
The Human League,
Tears for Fears,
Nik Kershaw,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Tomorrow,
Letta Mbulu,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Iggy Pop,
The Move,
The Names,
La Düsseldorf,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Technova,
The Smiths,
Index,
Altered Images,
Ornette Coleman,
Tubeway Army,
Second Layer,
Kas Product,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Television,
The Fire Engines,
Underground Resistance,
Cybotron,
ABC,
Ossler,
Rakim,
The Leaves,
Eve St. Jones,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Aloha Tigers,
Subhumans,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Pretty Things,
Arthur Verocai,
Mars,
Ralphi Rosario,
Henry Cow,
Frankie Knuckles,
Boz Scaggs,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Techniques,
Godley & Creme,
Maurizio,
Wire,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Sun City Girls,
Althea and Donna,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Half Japanese,
Nico,
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.