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 Indonesia and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Matthew Bourne to the dance 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 Porter Ricks. All the underground hits.
All Ronnie Foster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Japan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 sitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Victims record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
Eric Copeland,
Don Cherry,
Howard Jones,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Joyce Sims,
ABBA,
Eric B and Rakim,
Sam Rivers,
Severed Heads,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Ultravox,
Ultra Naté,
Johnny Clarke,
Sun Ra,
Barry Ungar,
Desert Stars,
The Grass Roots,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Los Fastidios,
Gong,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Misunderstood,
Charles Mingus,
Carl Craig,
Sparks,
Lungfish,
World's Most,
Chris Corsano,
Pet Shop Boys,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Yaz,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Mummies,
The Dead C,
Isaac Hayes,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Suburban Knight,
Cybotron,
Ponytail,
Rosa Yemen,
Lakeside,
Alphaville,
The American Breed,
Hashim,
John Coltrane,
Pole,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Busters,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Main Source,
Sällskapet,
The Cramps,
Joy Division,
The Sound,
Lee Hazlewood,
Section 25,
The Slits,
Black Pus,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.