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 Cameroon and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Columbus.
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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Star Department to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Pagans. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Bourne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tubeway Army 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ash Ra Tempel record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mandrill,
Icehouse,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Terry Callier,
The Doors,
Yazoo,
Ice-T,
Harry Pussy,
T. Rex,
The Last Poets,
James White and The Blacks,
The Smiths,
Pantytec,
Aaron Thompson,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Blackbyrds,
Mo-Dettes,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Amon Düül,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Johnny Osbourne,
Lungfish,
The Grass Roots,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Monolake,
Henry Cow,
The Names,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Terrestrial Tones,
Drexciya,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Desert Stars,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Pretty Things,
OOIOO,
The Toasters,
Metal Thangz,
Kenny Larkin,
Eric B and Rakim,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Gang Starr,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Swans,
Robert Hood,
New Age Steppers,
Infiniti,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Colin Newman,
Barclay James Harvest,
Half Japanese,
Reuben Wilson,
Jawbox,
Black Moon,
Gil Scott Heron,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
David Axelrod,
Suicide,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
the Slits,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Index, The Index, The Index, The Index.
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.