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 Mali and from Calgary.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Pere Ubu to the dance 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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs. All the underground hits.
All Yaz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Liliput record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Popol Vuh,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Derrick May,
Cameo,
Minor Threat,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Nick Fraelich,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Mr. Review,
James White and The Blacks,
Quadrant,
Heaven 17,
Sex Pistols,
Skriet,
Slick Rick,
Radio Birdman,
Black Bananas,
Visage,
Public Image Ltd.,
B.T. Express,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Marmalade,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The United States of America,
Lungfish,
the Swans,
Swans,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Wally Richardson,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Slits,
Talk Talk,
Sällskapet,
Ultravox,
Circle Jerks,
Idris Muhammad,
Eurythmics,
Aural Exciters,
Nico,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Neon Judgement,
Goldenarms,
Aswad,
John Lydon,
Ultimate Spinach,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Bronski Beat,
Tres Demented,
John Holt,
8 Eyed Spy,
Mars,
Spoonie Gee,
The Fortunes,
Chrome,
The Fall,
Scrapy,
Con Funk Shun,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Neu!,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Eve St. Jones,
Bang On A Can,
New Order, New Order, New Order, New Order.
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.