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 Montenegro and from Bremen.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Fuzztones to the punk 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 Los Fastidios. All the underground hits.
All Jesper Dahlbäck tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ultra Naté 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bad Manners,
Sister Nancy,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Robert Görl,
Throbbing Gristle,
Scientists,
Flipper,
The Sound,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Gap Band,
Mantronix,
The Seeds,
Deakin,
Cymande,
The Trojans,
Gil Scott Heron,
Drexciya,
Joe Smooth,
Barbara Tucker,
Jandek,
Ohio Players,
Chrome,
Outsiders,
New Age Steppers,
Nas,
Popol Vuh,
Massinfluence,
Danielle Patucci,
Fat Boys,
Mark Hollis,
John Cale,
The Shadows of Knight,
Urselle,
Black Bananas,
Sex Pistols,
Stiv Bators,
June Days,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Pylon,
the Slits,
Bluetip,
Yazoo,
Model 500,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Masters at Work,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Clear Light,
The Saints,
Sun City Girls,
Lindisfarne,
The Human League,
Rapeman,
Grandmaster Flash,
Circle Jerks,
The Angels of Light,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Smiths,
UT,
Hoover, Hoover, Hoover, Hoover.
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.