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 Brazil and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Cure to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Lalann tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ultravox record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
The Cowsills,
Gil Scott Heron,
Sun City Girls,
Sixth Finger,
Warren Ellis,
The New Christs,
Radio Birdman,
DNA,
Howard Jones,
Mars,
Los Fastidios,
The Slits,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
John Lydon,
The Beau Brummels,
The Walker Brothers,
Slave,
The Alarm Clocks,
Lalann,
MDC,
Sugar Minott,
Section 25,
The Dead C,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Minutemen,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Circle Jerks,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Lower 48,
Swell Maps,
Donny Hathaway,
Zapp,
OOIOO,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Gerry Rafferty,
Masters at Work,
Marine Girls,
Bluetip,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Aswad,
Mad Mike,
Gastr Del Sol,
Animal Collective,
Lakeside,
Rotary Connection,
Malaria!,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
a-ha,
Von Mondo,
The Gladiators,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Joyce Sims,
FM Einheit,
Faust,
Jesper Dahlback,
Steve Hackett,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Aaron Thompson,
The Modern Lovers,
kango's stein massive,
Maurizio,
The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers.
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.