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 Guinea-Bissau and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Jerry Gold Smith to the techno 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 The Monochrome Set. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Susan Cadogan 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 an organ and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Surgeon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Holt,
EPMD,
Tears for Fears,
Theoretical Girls,
Tropical Tobacco,
8 Eyed Spy,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Los Fastidios,
Maurizio,
Dead Boys,
Piero Umiliani,
Stiv Bators,
Cheater Slicks,
the Swans,
Ten City,
U.S. Maple,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Fat Boys,
The Last Poets,
Carl Craig,
Chrome,
Rapeman,
Infiniti,
Bluetip,
The Victims,
the Bar-Kays,
Graham Central Station,
Procol Harum,
Lungfish,
The Vogues,
Faust,
Reuben Wilson,
Gong,
Gang Green,
the Fania All-Stars,
Darondo,
Bush Tetras,
Y Pants,
Jeff Mills,
Max Romeo,
Heaven 17,
Unrelated Segments,
The New Christs,
Kevin Saunderson,
Grauzone,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Nico,
Soul II Soul,
Sugar Minott,
Panda Bear,
Ralphi Rosario,
Nils Olav,
Camouflage,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Marvin Gaye,
Electric Prunes,
Sandy B,
Brass Construction,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Circle Jerks,
kango's stein massive,
The Moleskins,
David McCallum,
Model 500, Model 500, Model 500, Model 500.
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.