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 Bolivia and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Johnny Osbourne to the crunk 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 Minutemen. All the underground hits.
All Minor Threat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oneida 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 guitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Monks,
Slick Rick,
Idris Muhammad,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Suicide,
Moebius,
Babytalk,
Sandy B,
Royal Trux,
the Normal,
The Five Americans,
Nik Kershaw,
The Monochrome Set,
Nirvana,
The Leaves,
Ohio Players,
Skarface,
The Last Poets,
L. Decosne,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Second Layer,
Excepter,
Big Daddy Kane,
Dark Day,
Jeff Mills,
Buzzcocks,
Skaos,
Soft Cell,
Gang Starr,
Ossler,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
One Last Wish,
Morten Harket,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Avey Tare,
The Martian,
Donald Byrd,
The Cure,
Carl Craig,
Massinfluence,
Erasure,
Lungfish,
The Moody Blues,
Frankie Knuckles,
Siglo XX,
Laurel Aitken,
The Invisible,
The Move,
The Gap Band,
the Bar-Kays,
Cymande,
The Mummies,
Reagan Youth,
Bang On A Can,
Motorama,
The Vogues,
The Trojans,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Lalo Schifrin,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Trumans Water,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.