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 Grenada and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane to the grunge 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 Liaisons Dangereuses. All the underground hits.
All Reagan Youth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Wake record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mantronix record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
10cc,
The Gladiators,
Marshall Jefferson,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
The Electric Prunes,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Star Department,
Matthew Halsall,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Pere Ubu,
Traffic Nightmare,
Deadbeat,
Pussy Galore,
the Fania All-Stars,
Unwound,
Graham Central Station,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Delon & Dalcan,
Siglo XX,
Spandau Ballet,
Brick,
Von Mondo,
Kevin Saunderson,
Archie Shepp,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Lou Reed,
Amon Düül II,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Sandy B,
Sly & The Family Stone,
8 Eyed Spy,
Mr. Review,
Pylon,
Hot Snakes,
The Fortunes,
Susan Cadogan,
The J.B.'s,
Soul II Soul,
New Age Steppers,
Eric Copeland,
The Tremeloes,
Boz Scaggs,
Camouflage,
Ultra Naté,
The Associates,
June Days,
Sexual Harrassment,
Clear Light,
Ornette Coleman,
Kerrie Biddell,
Rufus Thomas,
Freddie Wadling,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Minor Threat,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Duran Duran,
Nirvana,
Ituana,
The Names,
The Evens,
Lebanon Hanover,
Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One.
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.