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 Barbados and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron 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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Kings Of Tomorrow to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Parry Music. All the underground hits.
All Ultramagnetic MC's tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Durutti Column record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Misunderstood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nirvana,
the Sonics,
The Evens,
John Lydon,
Pantaleimon,
John Cale,
The Buckinghams,
Eric Copeland,
Saccharine Trust,
Alton Ellis,
The Doors,
New York Dolls,
The Pretty Things,
Easy Going,
Marshall Jefferson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Glambeats Corp.,
DNA,
The J.B.'s,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Marc Almond,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Qualms,
Black Pus,
The Beau Brummels,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Monolake,
Outsiders,
Fluxion,
Kaleidoscope,
Pharoah Sanders,
Desert Stars,
Unrelated Segments,
Mo-Dettes,
The Slackers,
Moebius,
The Smiths,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Groovy Waters,
48th St. Collective,
Mars,
Kool Moe Dee,
Faraquet,
The Angels of Light,
Parry Music,
Jimmy McGriff,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Depeche Mode,
John Coltrane,
Massinfluence,
Eve St. Jones,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
T.S.O.L.,
Joey Negro,
Sex Pistols,
The Shadows of Knight,
Tommy Roe,
Peter and Kerry,
Sight & Sound,
Babytalk,
Joe Smooth,
Hardrive,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls.
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.