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 Grenada and from Delhi.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Slave to the dance kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Young Marble Giants. All the underground hits.
All Altered Images tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Matthew Bourne record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 a marimba and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Strawberry Alarm Clock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Invisible,
The Red Krayola,
Erasure,
Sex Pistols,
Porter Ricks,
Deadbeat,
Pussy Galore,
Theoretical Girls,
L. Decosne,
The Index,
Morten Harket,
The Star Department,
The Real Kids,
Cecil Taylor,
The Young Rascals,
Thompson Twins,
Agitation Free,
Tears for Fears,
Interpol,
Prince Buster,
Sonic Youth,
Ronan,
The Monks,
The Dirtbombs,
Bronski Beat,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Mary Jane Girls,
a-ha,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Stooges,
Pantytec,
Aaron Thompson,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Litter,
Main Source,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Delta 5,
Cameo,
Boredoms,
Groovy Waters,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Connie Case,
Sandy B,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Robert Hood,
DJ Sneak,
The Pretty Things,
Television,
David Bowie,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Grauzone,
Aswad,
The Sound,
Delon & Dalcan,
Surgeon,
X-Ray Spex,
Quando Quango,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Electric Prunes,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Saints, The Saints, The Saints, The Saints.
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.