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 Sweden and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the electroclash 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 Spoonie Gee. All the underground hits.
All June of 44 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rosa Yemen record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tears for Fears record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Cluster,
Unrelated Segments,
Johnny Osbourne,
Gregory Isaacs,
Man Parrish,
Goldenarms,
Thee Headcoats,
The Dead C,
Sexual Harrassment,
Lungfish,
Big Daddy Kane,
U.S. Maple,
Kurtis Blow,
Suicide,
Juan Atkins,
Babytalk,
the Human League,
T. Rex,
AZ,
Stereo Dub,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Rites of Spring,
The Dave Clark Five,
Amon Düül II,
The Associates,
The Standells,
Black Pus,
Rakim,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Grass Roots,
The Doobie Brothers,
Grauzone,
R.M.O.,
48th St. Collective,
Maurizio,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Trojans,
Chrome,
Judy Mowatt,
Stiv Bators,
Bang On A Can,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Mo-Dettes,
Dave Gahan,
Q and Not U,
Wally Richardson,
K-Klass,
Albert Ayler,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Mandrill,
Susan Cadogan,
Ken Boothe,
Soulsonic Force,
The Fall,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Raincoats,
Flash Fearless,
Theoretical Girls,
Ronan,
Japan,
The Angels of Light,
Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic.
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.