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 Guatemala and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Echo & the Bunnymen to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282. All the underground hits.
All Bootsy Collins 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brass Construction record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Babytalk,
Bobby Byrd,
Kaleidoscope,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Golliwogs,
The Slits,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Bill Near,
Con Funk Shun,
cv313,
The Detroit Cobras,
Tears for Fears,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Scion,
The Skatalites,
Lee Hazlewood,
Interpol,
Quando Quango,
Newcleus,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Black Bananas,
Fat Boys,
Mr. Review,
Carl Craig,
The Gories,
Barbara Tucker,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Marc Almond,
Ludus,
The Residents,
Dave Gahan,
Masters at Work,
Monks,
James White and The Blacks,
Duran Duran,
the Sonics,
Hardrive,
Danielle Patucci,
Slick Rick,
Vainqueur,
F. McDonald,
Index,
The Slackers,
Eric B and Rakim,
Bizarre Inc.,
Boz Scaggs,
Man Eating Sloth,
Cecil Taylor,
The Blackbyrds,
Depeche Mode,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Saccharine Trust,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Fatback Band,
Public Enemy,
Colin Newman,
Urselle, Urselle, Urselle, Urselle.
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.