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 Rwanda and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the snare 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 Public Enemy to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Trumans Water record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Minor Threat record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Walker Brothers,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Cluster,
Moby Grape,
Harry Pussy,
Monks,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Metal Thangz,
Chris Corsano,
48th St. Collective,
Lungfish,
Idris Muhammad,
The Red Krayola,
Niagra,
Magazine,
Mark Hollis,
The Buckinghams,
H. Thieme,
Hashim,
Lakeside,
Depeche Mode,
Terrestrial Tones,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Make Up,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Godley & Creme,
James White and The Blacks,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Amazonics,
Mr. Review,
The Raincoats,
Silicon Teens,
Clear Light,
The Techniques,
Tim Buckley,
Tres Demented,
June of 44,
Simply Red,
Supertramp,
Pet Shop Boys,
Junior Murvin,
Donny Hathaway,
FM Einheit,
Glambeats Corp.,
Stiv Bators,
Loose Ends,
Crooked Eye,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Alison Limerick,
Ohio Players,
John Coltrane,
Joensuu 1685,
Derrick May,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
MC5,
Suicide,
Parry Music,
Scan 7,
Amon Düül II,
Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton.
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.