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 Afghanistan and from Calgary.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 R.M.O. to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Terrestrial Tones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Frankie Knuckles record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sun Ra record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brick,
Jacques Brel,
Minny Pops,
Lindisfarne,
LL Cool J,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Velvet Underground,
Aural Exciters,
Oblivians,
Stereo Dub,
The Monochrome Set,
Danielle Patucci,
Moby Grape,
The Smoke,
Lalo Schifrin,
Yusef Lateef,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Young Rascals,
Thee Headcoats,
The Cramps,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Livin' Joy,
Andrew Hill,
June of 44,
The Gap Band,
The Five Americans,
Monks,
The Raincoats,
Radiopuhelimet,
Cluster,
Fat Boys,
Electric Prunes,
New Order,
Pierre Henry,
The Blues Magoos,
The Dave Clark Five,
Joe Smooth,
UT,
The Searchers,
Underground Resistance,
Con Funk Shun,
Prince Buster,
Gang Green,
Infiniti,
Harry Pussy,
Tom Boy,
Bobby Sherman,
ABBA,
Marcia Griffiths,
Deadbeat,
Quadrant,
Soft Cell,
The Blackbyrds,
Babytalk,
The Offenders,
The Star Department,
Alphaville,
Kaleidoscope,
Interpol,
Siglo XX,
Letta Mbulu,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.