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 Algeria and from Portland.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Bremen.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 48th St. Collective to the techno 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 The Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All James Chance & The Contortions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The J.B.'s record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fuzztones,
Zapp,
Royal Trux,
the Normal,
Bill Near,
Banda Bassotti,
The Sisters of Mercy,
One Last Wish,
Porter Ricks,
Liliput,
Youth Brigade,
Delon & Dalcan,
Sound Behaviour,
Sarah Menescal,
Ronan,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Deakin,
Piero Umiliani,
Cal Tjader,
Donny Hathaway,
The Angels of Light,
Tubeway Army,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Heaven 17,
The Real Kids,
Eric Copeland,
Bill Wells,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Bob Dylan,
World's Most,
Organ,
Terry Callier,
Kurtis Blow,
Gichy Dan,
Model 500,
Supertramp,
Urselle,
The Wake,
Magma,
New York Dolls,
Tomorrow,
Wolf Eyes,
Byron Stingily,
Clear Light,
Das Ding,
The Durutti Column,
Don Cherry,
Dead Boys,
Young Marble Giants,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Deadbeat,
Robert Hood,
Funky Four + One,
Reuben Wilson,
The Grass Roots,
Mr. Review,
Patti Smith,
Rites of Spring,
Neu!,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Slits,
Quantec, Quantec, Quantec, Quantec.
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.