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 Angola and from Sao Paulo.
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 1969 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 A Flock of Seagulls to the rock kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Johnny Clarke. All the underground hits.
All The Names tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eric Copeland record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bush Tetras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Trojans,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Hashim,
Moebius,
the Swans,
The Sound,
the Soft Cell,
Morten Harket,
The Knickerbockers,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Terry Callier,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Dorothy Ashby,
Bobby Womack,
The Dead C,
L. Decosne,
X-Ray Spex,
Faust,
Angry Samoans,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
OOIOO,
Charles Mingus,
Smog,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Accadde A,
Ice-T,
The Gun Club,
James White and The Blacks,
Bill Near,
Lower 48,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Suicide,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Beasts of Bourbon,
T.S.O.L.,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Sällskapet,
Bluetip,
LL Cool J,
the Human League,
Popol Vuh,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Camouflage,
The Slits,
Y Pants,
Urselle,
Mantronix,
The Modern Lovers,
The Names,
Liliput,
The Gap Band,
Bobby Sherman,
Livin' Joy,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Aloha Tigers,
Mark Hollis,
Scan 7,
DJ Style,
Television, Television, Television, Television.
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.