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 Philippines and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Lower 48 to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Yusef Lateef. All the underground hits.
All The Toasters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 guitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Moebius record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Toasters,
Sandy B,
Fat Boys,
Andrew Hill,
The Doors,
Index,
Kerri Chandler,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Quadrant,
Nation of Ulysses,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
ABC,
Reagan Youth,
Brass Construction,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Names,
Nik Kershaw,
Alphaville,
Tom Boy,
Make Up,
Simply Red,
Ornette Coleman,
Prince Buster,
Warren Ellis,
Ituana,
Junior Murvin,
Soul Sonic Force,
Sixth Finger,
Althea and Donna,
Sun City Girls,
Con Funk Shun,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Wasted Youth,
Carl Craig,
KRS-One,
Barclay James Harvest,
New York Dolls,
The Move,
Kaleidoscope,
X-Ray Spex,
Nas,
Graham Central Station,
The Smiths,
8 Eyed Spy,
Avey Tare,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Young Rascals,
Sex Pistols,
Blancmange,
Supertramp,
Black Flag,
Mark Hollis,
Aloha Tigers,
The Real Kids,
Gabor Szabo,
Wings,
The Music Machine,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Sarah Menescal,
Gang of Four,
Television Personalities,
The Detroit Cobras,
Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy.
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.