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 Czech Republic and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Scott Walker to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Marshall Jefferson. All the underground hits.
All Lightning Bolt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ronnie Foster,
Youth Brigade,
Fugazi,
The Misunderstood,
New Order,
Black Pus,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Music Machine,
Bill Near,
Cheater Slicks,
X-Ray Spex,
Throbbing Gristle,
Unwound,
Sandy B,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Deakin,
Jeff Lynne,
U.S. Maple,
Deadbeat,
The Evens,
Crooked Eye,
the Fania All-Stars,
Au Pairs,
Cecil Taylor,
The Gun Club,
Trumans Water,
Fat Boys,
Simply Red,
Monks,
Severed Heads,
The Index,
Outsiders,
Stetsasonic,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Crime,
Rod Modell,
Eric B and Rakim,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Sparks,
Big Daddy Kane,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Minutemen,
Sun City Girls,
Black Sheep,
Drexciya,
Television,
Nirvana,
The Cowsills,
Maurizio,
Fear,
The Beau Brummels,
Amon Düül II,
AZ,
The Litter,
Peter and Kerry,
Japan,
Fatback Band,
Visage,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Das Ding,
Quadrant,
Alphaville,
Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti.
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.