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 Zimbabwe and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Rotary Connection to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Maurizio. All the underground hits.
All The United States of America tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Toni Rubio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dead Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rosa Yemen,
David McCallum,
Ponytail,
Nas,
Monolake,
Mars,
The Move,
Banda Bassotti,
Pierre Henry,
Tropical Tobacco,
Boz Scaggs,
Oneida,
Bush Tetras,
Tommy Roe,
Outsiders,
The Happenings,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Barracudas,
D'Angelo,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Black Dice,
Scratch Acid,
Black Bananas,
The Fuzztones,
K-Klass,
David Bowie,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Moody Blues,
John Holt,
Model 500,
The Flesh Eaters,
Patti Smith,
Harry Pussy,
Reuben Wilson,
Alphaville,
Excepter,
John Coltrane,
The Red Krayola,
Smog,
The Dave Clark Five,
Icehouse,
Bronski Beat,
JFA,
Rufus Thomas,
Lou Christie,
The Cowsills,
LL Cool J,
Ralphi Rosario,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Ohio Players,
It's A Beautiful Day,
the Normal,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Traffic Nightmare,
In Retrospect,
Duran Duran,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Saccharine Trust,
Mantronix,
Bluetip,
Grandmaster Flash,
James Chance & The Contortions,
John Cale, John Cale, John Cale, John Cale.
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.