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 Panama and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez 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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Tubeway Army to the electroclash 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 Nico. All the underground hits.
All Eli Mardock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barry Ungar record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Detroit Cobras,
Blake Baxter,
Hot Snakes,
The Pretty Things,
Maleditus Sound,
the Soft Cell,
The Slackers,
Derrick May,
Faraquet,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Ultra Naté,
Soul Sonic Force,
Funky Four + One,
Marmalade,
Radiohead,
the Swans,
Cecil Taylor,
DNA,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Urselle,
Radio Birdman,
the Fania All-Stars,
Jacques Brel,
Model 500,
Barry Ungar,
the Association,
Brothers Johnson,
Black Moon,
Shuggie Otis,
Eric Copeland,
Scientists,
Arab on Radar,
Pussy Galore,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
John Coltrane,
Crooked Eye,
Nils Olav,
Fear,
Silicon Teens,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Grandmaster Flash,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Sun Ra,
Lindisfarne,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Joe Finger,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Flipper,
Connie Case,
ABC,
Severed Heads,
Bill Near,
The Grass Roots,
Steve Hackett,
Niagra,
Pet Shop Boys,
Anthony Braxton,
Susan Cadogan,
Man Parrish,
F. McDonald,
Depeche Mode,
Al Stewart, Al Stewart, Al Stewart, Al Stewart.
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.