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 Gambia and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin 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 Eve St. Jones 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 The Star Department. All the underground hits.
All Unrelated Segments tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Neil Young record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Alphaville,
Scientists,
The Electric Prunes,
Barbara Tucker,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Ponytail,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Jacques Brel,
cv313,
The Dirtbombs,
Pierre Henry,
Interpol,
The Vogues,
Marcia Griffiths,
Marine Girls,
Pantytec,
Whodini,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Howard Jones,
Eden Ahbez,
Little Man,
Tres Demented,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Echospace,
Deadbeat,
The Sound,
Dorothy Ashby,
Joensuu 1685,
Ludus,
The J.B.'s,
X-Ray Spex,
Ituana,
The Slits,
Charles Mingus,
Q and Not U,
Das Ding,
Yaz,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Five Americans,
Silicon Teens,
Underground Resistance,
Cluster,
The Victims,
Isaac Hayes,
Laurel Aitken,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Absolute Body Control,
The Music Machine,
The Detroit Cobras,
Funky Four + One,
Reagan Youth,
Piero Umiliani,
Porter Ricks,
Malaria!,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Outsiders,
Dual Sessions,
Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra.
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.