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 Thailand and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the güiro 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz. All the underground hits.
All Colin Newman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bob Dylan 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Heaven 17 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Average White Band,
Joy Division,
Steve Hackett,
Excepter,
La Düsseldorf,
Lindisfarne,
Zapp,
Laurel Aitken,
Rites of Spring,
Severed Heads,
Matthew Bourne,
Harry Pussy,
Fear,
Amon Düül II,
The Pretty Things,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Blancmange,
Organ,
Joey Negro,
Audionom,
Brand Nubian,
Animal Collective,
Sun City Girls,
Barry Ungar,
Crime,
David Axelrod,
U.S. Maple,
Freddie Wadling,
T. Rex,
Sarah Menescal,
Darondo,
Arthur Verocai,
Isaac Hayes,
Fluxion,
Roxette,
the Bar-Kays,
Funky Four + One,
Pierre Henry,
Toni Rubio,
D'Angelo,
Los Fastidios,
Guru Guru,
Sällskapet,
Pantaleimon,
The Doors,
Surgeon,
Slick Rick,
Amazonics,
Althea and Donna,
Subhumans,
Barbara Tucker,
The Star Department,
Swell Maps,
Cameo,
Procol Harum,
Pole,
the Swans,
Au Pairs,
The United States of America,
These Immortal Souls,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks, Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks, Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks, Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks.
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.