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 Iraq and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Edmonton.
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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare 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 Blossom Toes to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Skriet tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every De La Soul & Jungle Brothers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Art Ensemble Of Chicago record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Gladiators,
Eric B and Rakim,
Supertramp,
Magazine,
Roxette,
Sarah Menescal,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Monks,
Neu!,
Jeff Lynne,
The Victims,
Delon & Dalcan,
Black Pus,
Franke,
Moss Icon,
Lightning Bolt,
Howard Jones,
The Remains,
Angry Samoans,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Sister Nancy,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bobbi Humphrey,
the Association,
The Young Rascals,
Radiohead,
Essential Logic,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Basic Channel,
ABBA,
Arcadia,
Gang Starr,
Anthony Braxton,
Alice Coltrane,
Symarip,
The Electric Prunes,
Freddie Wadling,
Cal Tjader,
Harmonia,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Iggy Pop,
Jimmy McGriff,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
the Bar-Kays,
Laurel Aitken,
Grauzone,
The Blues Magoos,
The Busters,
The Trojans,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
a-ha,
Minny Pops,
Marc Almond,
Aswad,
Little Man,
Slick Rick,
Tom Boy,
Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division.
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.