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 Brunei and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 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 Lightning Bolt to the funk 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 Siouxsie and the Banshees. All the underground hits.
All Bush Tetras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Derrick May record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jesper Dahlbäck record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
Skriet,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Matthew Bourne,
DNA,
The Golliwogs,
The Monks,
Bronski Beat,
Jesper Dahlback,
F. McDonald,
Sparks,
The Raincoats,
Steve Hackett,
Cecil Taylor,
Depeche Mode,
Colin Newman,
Los Fastidios,
The Mojo Men,
K-Klass,
The J.B.'s,
Spoonie Gee,
Dead Boys,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Girls At Our Best!,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Erasure,
Au Pairs,
Bootsy Collins,
The Divine Comedy,
Moss Icon,
Quantec,
Neu!,
The Trojans,
Stockholm Monsters,
Aloha Tigers,
Albert Ayler,
Pylon,
New York Dolls,
David Bowie,
The Cure,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Ralphi Rosario,
Ten City,
Pole,
Quadrant,
Barrington Levy,
Mark Hollis,
the Slits,
The Last Poets,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Busters,
Audionom,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Fela Kuti,
Man Eating Sloth,
Franke,
The Associates,
Zapp,
Thompson Twins,
Eric Dolphy,
Joyce Sims,
Robert Görl,
Eve St. Jones, Eve St. Jones, Eve St. Jones, Eve St. Jones.
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.