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 Germany and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Taipei.
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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 The Cure to the jazz kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Sugar Minott. All the underground hits.
All Fela Kuti tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Angels of Light record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 sitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Kinks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Matthew Bourne,
MDC,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Mad Mike,
The Dirtbombs,
The Fall,
Robert Görl,
Roy Ayers,
Crispy Ambulance,
Kurtis Blow,
Visage,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Joensuu 1685,
Deadbeat,
Severed Heads,
The Monochrome Set,
Barry Ungar,
Y Pants,
Hot Snakes,
Section 25,
Pagans,
Rapeman,
Amazonics,
Cal Tjader,
Ultimate Spinach,
David Axelrod,
The Gories,
Ituana,
Radio Birdman,
Joe Smooth,
The Fugs,
Ornette Coleman,
Angry Samoans,
World's Most,
R.M.O.,
The Slits,
The Wake,
Scrapy,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Gong,
Stiv Bators,
Gang of Four,
Oneida,
The Dead C,
Duran Duran,
Davy DMX,
Ultra Naté,
Warsaw,
Blancmange,
K-Klass,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Deepchord,
Archie Shepp,
Flipper,
Sarah Menescal,
Donny Hathaway,
Man Eating Sloth,
Janne Schatter,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Grass Roots,
Alison Limerick,
Electric Light Orchestra, Electric Light Orchestra, Electric Light Orchestra, Electric Light Orchestra.
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.