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 Switzerland and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Scratch Acid to the disco 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 Marshall Jefferson. All the underground hits.
All Amazonics tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eve St. Jones 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Invisible record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fall,
Skaos,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Robert Hood,
Bobby Womack,
Yazoo,
Moebius,
Mr. Review,
Infiniti,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Count Five,
Newcleus,
Eric Copeland,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Cluster,
DJ Style,
Barbara Tucker,
Section 25,
Camouflage,
The Seeds,
Jerry's Kids,
Bootsy Collins,
Sixth Finger,
Harry Pussy,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Residents,
Harpers Bizarre,
Donny Hathaway,
The Buckinghams,
Organ,
Sandy B,
Easy Going,
Donald Byrd,
Jeru the Damaja,
Faust,
Lower 48,
Pet Shop Boys,
Whodini,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Stetsasonic,
Tears for Fears,
Marvin Gaye,
Monks,
Crispy Ambulance,
Kas Product,
a-ha,
Cybotron,
Depeche Mode,
Eden Ahbez,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
L. Decosne,
Q65,
Kaleidoscope,
Outsiders,
Sight & Sound,
Max Romeo,
The Monochrome Set,
Oblivians,
Cameo, Cameo, Cameo, Cameo.
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.