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 Equatorial Guinea and from Mumbai.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Mexico City.
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 oboe 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 Electric Prunes to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. All the underground hits.
All Gong tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang of Four record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes 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 Slits 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?
OOIOO,
Heaven 17,
The Move,
Brand Nubian,
Scientists,
Mary Jane Girls,
Sandy B,
Barry Ungar,
Cameo,
Depeche Mode,
John Foxx,
Lakeside,
Kaleidoscope,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
ABC,
Eyeless In Gaza,
David Bowie,
Magazine,
Mars,
Los Fastidios,
Hoover,
the Swans,
The Raincoats,
The Names,
Slave,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Warsaw,
Hasil Adkins,
The Blackbyrds,
Erasure,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Pet Shop Boys,
Oblivians,
Wings,
Sugar Minott,
Anakelly,
Khruangbin,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Buckinghams,
Bobby Sherman,
Kool Moe Dee,
Jimmy McGriff,
Make Up,
Negative Approach,
Lightning Bolt,
Skarface,
Boredoms,
Aaron Thompson,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Fire Engines,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Crash Course in Science,
Symarip,
Mark Hollis,
Tears for Fears,
Ken Boothe,
Nirvana,
New Age Steppers,
the Soft Cell,
Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn, Dawn Penn.
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.