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 Congo and from Sao Paulo.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Freddie Wadling to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Desert Stars. All the underground hits.
All Deadbeat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Swans,
Faust,
Wasted Youth,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Fear,
Flipper,
Throbbing Gristle,
Vainqueur,
Subhumans,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Morten Harket,
Peter and Kerry,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Roy Ayers,
Curtis Mayfield,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
the Slits,
Kurtis Blow,
Quadrant,
Johnny Clarke,
Robert Hood,
10cc,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Mummies,
Intrusion,
The Velvet Underground,
The Slits,
Todd Rundgren,
Ken Boothe,
Gerry Rafferty,
Iggy Pop,
Chris & Cosey,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Rosa Yemen,
Hardrive,
Ossler,
The Dave Clark Five,
Procol Harum,
Minor Threat,
Talk Talk,
kango's stein massive,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Negative Approach,
Scan 7,
T.S.O.L.,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Suburban Knight,
Soul II Soul,
The Fortunes,
48th St. Collective,
ABBA,
Au Pairs,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Blake Baxter,
Fugazi,
China Crisis,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Cheater Slicks,
Gichy Dan,
Ultravox,
The Electric Prunes, The Electric Prunes, The Electric Prunes, The Electric Prunes.
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.