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 Comoros and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Magma to the grunge 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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All The Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Camouflage record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Almond record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Busters,
Icehouse,
Soft Machine,
Pagans,
Byron Stingily,
Flash Fearless,
Fugazi,
The Standells,
Desert Stars,
Scott Walker,
Terrestrial Tones,
Loose Ends,
Easy Going,
In Retrospect,
Jawbox,
Albert Ayler,
Freddie Wadling,
Ultimate Spinach,
Todd Rundgren,
Deadbeat,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Lou Reed,
Ice-T,
Smog,
Mr. Review,
Boredoms,
Little Man,
Ornette Coleman,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Index,
8 Eyed Spy,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
A Certain Ratio,
Eric Copeland,
Susan Cadogan,
Agent Orange,
Johnny Clarke,
Piero Umiliani,
Kaleidoscope,
Harpers Bizarre,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Model 500,
K-Klass,
Tom Boy,
Nik Kershaw,
Anthony Braxton,
Scientists,
Second Layer,
Bad Manners,
James White and The Blacks,
Joe Finger,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Radiopuhelimet,
Rites of Spring,
Soul II Soul,
the Human League,
The American Breed,
Deepchord,
Marshall Jefferson,
Zero Boys,
Vainqueur,
Can,
Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken.
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.