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 Fiji and from Sao Paulo.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Lucky Dragons to the rock 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 Marmalade. All the underground hits.
All A Flock of Seagulls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every June Days 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Howard Jones,
Peter & Gordon,
The Five Americans,
Traffic Nightmare,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
8 Eyed Spy,
Tommy Roe,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Kool Moe Dee,
Pussy Galore,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Althea and Donna,
Henry Cow,
Dual Sessions,
Nas,
Slave,
Groovy Waters,
Can,
Man Eating Sloth,
Smog,
Don Cherry,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Last Poets,
Sällskapet,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Kerri Chandler,
Minnie Riperton,
Donald Byrd,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Misunderstood,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Harry Pussy,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Siglo XX,
Barbara Tucker,
Faust,
Drexciya,
New York Dolls,
Hasil Adkins,
Con Funk Shun,
James White and The Blacks,
Frankie Knuckles,
Moss Icon,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Martian,
Ronnie Foster,
Max Romeo,
Vainqueur,
Chrome,
Pere Ubu,
The Sound,
Kurtis Blow,
Eurythmics,
Lou Christie,
Pierre Henry,
The Real Kids,
Rites of Spring,
Neu!,
the Bar-Kays,
Tears for Fears,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.