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 Ecuador and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba 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 Fatback Band to the grunge 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 De La Soul & Jungle Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Heaven 17 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Skarface 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stockholm Monsters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Eating Sloth,
The Searchers,
Half Japanese,
Whodini,
Qualms,
Mr. Review,
cv313,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Leonard Cohen,
The Monochrome Set,
Wasted Youth,
R.M.O.,
New York Dolls,
B.T. Express,
Buzzcocks,
Animal Collective,
The Doobie Brothers,
Rites of Spring,
Gabor Szabo,
Al Stewart,
A Certain Ratio,
The Smiths,
Heaven 17,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Gregory Isaacs,
Spoonie Gee,
The Cure,
Lucky Dragons,
Toni Rubio,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Stooges,
Bizarre Inc.,
Radiopuhelimet,
Rotary Connection,
The Fortunes,
Funkadelic,
Brand Nubian,
Gang of Four,
Youth Brigade,
Donald Byrd,
T.S.O.L.,
Goldenarms,
The Move,
Magazine,
The Five Americans,
Alton Ellis,
Popol Vuh,
The Fuzztones,
Bad Manners,
Lyres,
the Fania All-Stars,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Human League,
Ultravox,
Lindisfarne,
JFA,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Eli Mardock,
Jawbox,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Susan Cadogan,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy.
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.