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 Portugal and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 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 Tim Buckley to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Bush Tetras. All the underground hits.
All In Retrospect tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Thee Headcoats record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 mellotron and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tears for Fears record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lindisfarne,
Duran Duran,
Slave,
Lalann,
Be Bop Deluxe,
a-ha,
Lungfish,
Warsaw,
Mission of Burma,
Quadrant,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Loose Ends,
Moss Icon,
DJ Sneak,
ABC,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Marc Almond,
Fatback Band,
The Martian,
Terry Callier,
The Last Poets,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Birthday Party,
Funkadelic,
Sex Pistols,
Vainqueur,
The Mummies,
Flamin' Groovies,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Slick Rick,
Pet Shop Boys,
OOIOO,
Bluetip,
Fat Boys,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Ronan,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Desert Stars,
The Fugs,
The Gun Club,
Soul II Soul,
Henry Cow,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Whodini,
Bobby Sherman,
John Lydon,
Arcadia,
F. McDonald,
MDC,
Yellowson,
Severed Heads,
The Busters,
The Wake,
Audionom,
Smog,
Scratch Acid,
Pantaleimon,
Absolute Body Control,
Grey Daturas,
Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore.
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.