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 Paris.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
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 London Community Gospel Choir to the rock kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Toni Rubio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Boredoms record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Heavy D & The Boyz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Radiopuhelimet,
Sex Pistols,
Urselle,
The Evens,
Blake Baxter,
The Moody Blues,
Sällskapet,
Gichy Dan,
The Searchers,
Tears for Fears,
Stetsasonic,
Wasted Youth,
Alison Limerick,
Nico,
Mars,
Althea and Donna,
The Music Machine,
Los Fastidios,
Josef K,
Circle Jerks,
John Lydon,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Eric Dolphy,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Mark Hollis,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Kerrie Biddell,
Blancmange,
Flipper,
Johnny Osbourne,
Kaleidoscope,
The Litter,
Soul Sonic Force,
DJ Style,
Quadrant,
Sixth Finger,
Sister Nancy,
Crime,
Clear Light,
Loose Ends,
Tomorrow,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Angels of Light,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
the Normal,
Steve Hackett,
The Durutti Column,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Faust,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Echospace,
Delta 5,
Zapp,
The Alarm Clocks,
Gerry Rafferty,
Susan Cadogan,
Smog,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Jimmy McGriff,
Howard Jones,
Jacob Miller,
48th St. Collective,
Robert Hood,
Q65,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.