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 Portugal and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 Hong Kong and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Mandrill to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bad Manners. All the underground hits.
All Red Lorry Yellow Lorry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Neil Young & Crazy Horse record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 spring reverb and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Mojo Men record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Big Daddy Kane,
Young Marble Giants,
The Buckinghams,
Aswad,
Angry Samoans,
Gichy Dan,
Chris & Cosey,
Theoretical Girls,
Pagans,
Leonard Cohen,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Seeds,
Throbbing Gristle,
Ohio Players,
Mars,
The Wake,
Au Pairs,
Moby Grape,
The Zeros,
Bobby Womack,
Bootsy Collins,
Make Up,
Joe Finger,
ABBA,
The Happenings,
Johnny Clarke,
Spoonie Gee,
Little Man,
Boredoms,
The Walker Brothers,
Mission of Burma,
The Fugs,
Freddie Wadling,
Boz Scaggs,
X-Ray Spex,
Barrington Levy,
Man Parrish,
Bizarre Inc.,
New Age Steppers,
Tears for Fears,
the Human League,
Crispian St. Peters,
Ponytail,
Fat Boys,
Average White Band,
June Days,
Deakin,
DJ Style,
DNA,
Alison Limerick,
Anakelly,
Frankie Knuckles,
Neu!,
The Mummies,
Glambeats Corp.,
Girls At Our Best!,
E-Dancer,
Schoolly D,
Man Eating Sloth,
Masters at Work,
The Neon Judgement,
The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang.
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.