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 Slovenia and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the grime 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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Boogie Down Productions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oblivians record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 808 and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a MDC record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Slick Rick,
Dual Sessions,
Harry Pussy,
Dave Gahan,
Robert Hood,
H. Thieme,
Porter Ricks,
Joyce Sims,
Marc Almond,
Danielle Patucci,
Ultimate Spinach,
These Immortal Souls,
Johnny Osbourne,
Connie Case,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Neon Judgement,
The Beau Brummels,
Parry Music,
Lakeside,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Happenings,
Sight & Sound,
the Soft Cell,
The Techniques,
Bauhaus,
The Cowsills,
The Raincoats,
Monks,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Bootsy Collins,
Crime,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Gong,
Mary Jane Girls,
Chris Corsano,
Altered Images,
Pylon,
Marvin Gaye,
Colin Newman,
the Slits,
The Durutti Column,
Glambeats Corp.,
Yaz,
Brand Nubian,
Anakelly,
The Fuzztones,
Frankie Knuckles,
Amazonics,
Eric Dolphy,
Babytalk,
The Dirtbombs,
The Alarm Clocks,
Mars,
D'Angelo,
Monolake,
Roger Hodgson,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Ultra Naté,
New Age Steppers,
Average White Band,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Animal Collective, Animal Collective, Animal Collective, Animal Collective.
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.