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 Ghana and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the guitar 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 Infiniti to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry. All the underground hits.
All H. Thieme tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Audionom record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cluster,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Prince Buster,
Tropical Tobacco,
Sun Ra,
Metal Thangz,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Hot Snakes,
Johnny Osbourne,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Glenn Branca,
Grandmaster Flash,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Techniques,
David Axelrod,
LL Cool J,
In Retrospect,
cv313,
Harry Pussy,
T.S.O.L.,
Smog,
Charles Mingus,
Soft Machine,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Five Americans,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Walker Brothers,
Procol Harum,
Marc Almond,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Maurizio,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Graham Central Station,
the Human League,
The Doors,
Ultravox,
Crime,
Gil Scott Heron,
Popol Vuh,
Throbbing Gristle,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Ronnie Foster,
Girls At Our Best!,
Tim Buckley,
Electric Prunes,
Danielle Patucci,
Theoretical Girls,
The Durutti Column,
D'Angelo,
Susan Cadogan,
PIL,
Erykah Badu,
Camouflage,
The Electric Prunes,
Marvin Gaye,
Nas,
EPMD,
Blake Baxter,
Aural Exciters,
Kevin Saunderson,
Amazonics,
H. Thieme, H. Thieme, H. Thieme, H. Thieme.
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.