Infinitely Losing My Edge

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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 Algeria and from Hong Kong.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.

To all the kids in Portland and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Gerry Rafferty 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 Blackbyrds. All the underground hits.

All Ralphi Rosario tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Beau Brummels 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.

I hear you're buying a mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kings Of Tomorrow record.

I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.

I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.

But have you seen my records?

Sex Pistols, The Blackbyrds, The J.B.'s, Bootsy Collins, Henry Cow, Echo & the Bunnymen, Niagra, Alphaville, Deepchord, Camouflage, Country Teasers, Crooked Eye, Godley & Creme, The Mighty Diamonds, Vainqueur, Subhumans, Lungfish, Nils Olav, Malaria!, Skaos, kango's stein massive, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, The Leaves, Little Man, The Martian, Minor Threat, Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Cybotron, Negative Approach, Ultra Naté, Jerry Gold Smith, Dead Boys, Technova, Derrick May, Magma, Masters at Work, Reuben Wilson, The Red Krayola, Eden Ahbez, Ornette Coleman, Blancmange, Cecil Taylor, Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic, Crash Course in Science, Harmonia, Delta 5, the Soft Cell, Chris & Cosey, Iggy Pop, X-101, Pole, Minnie Riperton, Harpers Bizarre, Inner City, Lou Reed, Boogie Down Productions, Tom Boy, The Gladiators, Interpol, These Immortal Souls, The Doors, Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines, Surgeon, The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques.

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.

A hack by Matthew Ogle who is very sorry to James Murphy and basically everyone (cheers to Darius and this for the late-night inspiration)