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 Botswana and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Cabaret Voltaire to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Mantronix. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Japan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a rhodes and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Starr,
Trumans Water,
Lyres,
ABBA,
The Remains,
Marcia Griffiths,
Magazine,
Pagans,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Chrome,
The Cramps,
The Mojo Men,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Eddi Front,
OOIOO,
The Blues Magoos,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Yazoo,
Bobby Sherman,
Circle Jerks,
Freddie Wadling,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ituana,
Ludus,
David Bowie,
Sandy B,
Black Pus,
FM Einheit,
Index,
Duran Duran,
Oblivians,
The Slackers,
Symarip,
The United States of America,
Section 25,
MC5,
the Bar-Kays,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Q65,
Harmonia,
Carl Craig,
the Association,
Jeff Lynne,
The Doobie Brothers,
Liliput,
The Litter,
Mantronix,
Roxy Music,
Scratch Acid,
Aural Exciters,
Drive Like Jehu,
Gerry Rafferty,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Theoretical Girls,
Ken Boothe,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Thee Headcoats,
the Slits,
Rosa Yemen,
Hot Snakes,
Lungfish, Lungfish, Lungfish, Lungfish.
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.