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 Bahrain and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Johannesburg.
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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Warren Ellis to the grime kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Absolute Body Control. All the underground hits.
All Girls At Our Best! tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joe Finger 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wolf Eyes,
the Germs,
Soft Cell,
Minor Threat,
CMW,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Mo-Dettes,
Rapeman,
Duran Duran,
Angry Samoans,
Bob Dylan,
Neu!,
Jawbox,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Dave Clark Five,
Eddi Front,
Quadrant,
Liliput,
The Smoke,
Japan,
Fad Gadget,
The Music Machine,
Lungfish,
Amon Düül,
Masters at Work,
Cymande,
The Searchers,
Bizarre Inc.,
June of 44,
Franke,
Desert Stars,
Bobby Womack,
Andrew Hill,
Bush Tetras,
Vainqueur,
Tres Demented,
Drexciya,
Ituana,
The Offenders,
Mad Mike,
Toni Rubio,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Talk Talk,
Carl Craig,
The United States of America,
Skaos,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Blackbyrds,
Stereo Dub,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Skatalites,
Outsiders,
Bootsy Collins,
Todd Terry,
Marc Almond,
Marmalade,
Shoche,
Roxy Music,
Erykah Badu,
Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco.
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.