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 Slovenia and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Sound Behaviour to the rock 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 Altered Images. All the underground hits.
All Sixth Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barbara Tucker 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Mighty Diamonds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Skatalites,
Erykah Badu,
Mo-Dettes,
Piero Umiliani,
Nik Kershaw,
Kayak,
Neu!,
Traffic Nightmare,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Marine Girls,
PIL,
Los Fastidios,
Depeche Mode,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Soft Machine,
cv313,
Oneida,
Nation of Ulysses,
Masters at Work,
Funkadelic,
Inner City,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Crooked Eye,
Jandek,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Rapeman,
Ronnie Foster,
Pere Ubu,
The Pretty Things,
Goldenarms,
Main Source,
Skriet,
Lou Reed,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
E-Dancer,
Glenn Branca,
The Fugs,
Nick Fraelich,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Harry Pussy,
The Real Kids,
The Gories,
T.S.O.L.,
The Monochrome Set,
Infiniti,
Toni Rubio,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Grauzone,
Hot Snakes,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Sun Ra,
Bootsy Collins,
Minor Threat,
June of 44,
Stetsasonic,
the Germs,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
the Swans,
Visage,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.