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 Guinea-Bissau and from Manchester.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Copenhagen.
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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin 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 Soft Machine to the techno 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 Isaac Hayes. All the underground hits.
All Bob Dylan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band 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?
The Dave Clark Five,
Harpers Bizarre,
Ossler,
the Bar-Kays,
The Moleskins,
The Saints,
Magma,
Unrelated Segments,
Audionom,
Bobby Byrd,
Goldenarms,
The Trojans,
ABBA,
Roger Hodgson,
Lungfish,
The Fugs,
X-Ray Spex,
Crooked Eye,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Birthday Party,
Supertramp,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
A Certain Ratio,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Little Man,
Crime,
Pere Ubu,
Desert Stars,
Ten City,
Barbara Tucker,
Thompson Twins,
The Gladiators,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Gong,
Dorothy Ashby,
Hashim,
Brass Construction,
The United States of America,
Judy Mowatt,
Tommy Roe,
Curtis Mayfield,
Absolute Body Control,
Erasure,
Das Ding,
Joyce Sims,
Terry Callier,
Sugar Minott,
Big Daddy Kane,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
AZ,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Jacques Brel,
Cluster,
Arab on Radar,
MDC,
Roxette,
10cc,
Reuben Wilson,
48th St. Collective,
The Names,
The Stooges,
The Offenders, The Offenders, The Offenders, The Offenders.
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.