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 Oman and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Barclay James Harvest to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Eurythmics. All the underground hits.
All Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jesper Dahlbäck 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 '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 The Mighty Diamonds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Almond,
Brothers Johnson,
Gichy Dan,
Ituana,
John Coltrane,
The New Christs,
This Heat,
Scan 7,
A Certain Ratio,
Scott Walker,
Toni Rubio,
Tom Boy,
Gastr Del Sol,
Patti Smith,
Gabor Szabo,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Lindisfarne,
Niagra,
Nirvana,
Marine Girls,
Cybotron,
Charles Mingus,
Neu!,
The Tremeloes,
Albert Ayler,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Slits,
Bang On A Can,
Make Up,
The Durutti Column,
Bobby Womack,
Tubeway Army,
Khruangbin,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Last Poets,
The Misunderstood,
Country Teasers,
The Dead C,
Pantaleimon,
Michelle Simonal,
Colin Newman,
LL Cool J,
Infiniti,
Anakelly,
8 Eyed Spy,
the Germs,
David Axelrod,
Spoonie Gee,
Heaven 17,
Josef K,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Jandek,
the Normal,
U.S. Maple,
Mr. Review,
Robert Hood,
Grey Daturas,
D'Angelo,
Prince Buster,
Sugar Minott,
John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon.
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.