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 St Lucia and from Tokyo.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the theremin 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 Shoche to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Cramps. All the underground hits.
All Black Sheep tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Blake Baxter 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Angels of Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
F. McDonald,
The Modern Lovers,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Misunderstood,
the Slits,
Bill Near,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Carl Craig,
Stiv Bators,
UT,
Tubeway Army,
Basic Channel,
Moss Icon,
Marine Girls,
The Mummies,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Smog,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Gun Club,
Panda Bear,
Jacob Miller,
48th St. Collective,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Kerri Chandler,
Blancmange,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Roxy Music,
Sparks,
Essential Logic,
Cymande,
Television,
Desert Stars,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Ohio Players,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Lou Christie,
Masters at Work,
The Raincoats,
Bad Manners,
Black Pus,
Sex Pistols,
The Birthday Party,
Gang Green,
Electric Prunes,
Swell Maps,
Mr. Review,
Technova,
Stockholm Monsters,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Eddi Front,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Human League,
Ice-T,
Ornette Coleman,
Can,
The Doors,
U.S. Maple,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Bobby Womack,
The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators.
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.