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 Zimbabwe and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Black Moon 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 The Index. All the underground hits.
All Rhythim Is Rhythim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Surgeon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an arpeggiator and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Erasure record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Underground Resistance,
Freddie Wadling,
Surgeon,
Fat Boys,
Gang of Four,
Sällskapet,
Urselle,
Dennis Brown,
John Holt,
James White and The Blacks,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Brothers Johnson,
Arab on Radar,
Radio Birdman,
Peter and Kerry,
Icehouse,
Harpers Bizarre,
Henry Cow,
Adolescents,
Suicide,
Radiopuhelimet,
Japan,
Television Personalities,
Soft Cell,
Wolf Eyes,
Pet Shop Boys,
Second Layer,
Eurythmics,
The Happenings,
The Fire Engines,
Mars,
Brand Nubian,
The Shadows of Knight,
Funkadelic,
Sonic Youth,
Sun City Girls,
The Barracudas,
Electric Light Orchestra,
the Fania All-Stars,
Groovy Waters,
Jeru the Damaja,
Marmalade,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Last Poets,
Nas,
Reagan Youth,
Alice Coltrane,
Babytalk,
Khruangbin,
The Gories,
Crooked Eye,
Zapp,
Leonard Cohen,
Jacques Brel,
Byron Stingily,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Niagra,
Gong,
Tom Boy,
Crime,
Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana.
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.