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 Dominican Republic and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 The Stooges to the grime 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 Wally Richardson. All the underground hits.
All the Soft Cell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Music Machine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DNA,
Don Cherry,
Hot Snakes,
The Dirtbombs,
The Human League,
Theoretical Girls,
The Young Rascals,
CMW,
Joy Division,
Maurizio,
Moby Grape,
Can,
Yusef Lateef,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Dave Gahan,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Slave,
Rhythm & Sound,
Tears for Fears,
Traffic Nightmare,
Gichy Dan,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Black Dice,
Aswad,
The Durutti Column,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Nas,
Little Man,
Yaz,
The American Breed,
Television,
Ornette Coleman,
Popol Vuh,
Rufus Thomas,
Thee Headcoats,
Black Flag,
The Vogues,
Sixth Finger,
The Flesh Eaters,
X-102,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Kaleidoscope,
The Shadows of Knight,
David McCallum,
The Motions,
Joe Smooth,
The Techniques,
Lightning Bolt,
Barbara Tucker,
Main Source,
Charles Mingus,
Liliput,
Gang Gang Dance,
B.T. Express,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Smoke,
Franke,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
the Swans,
Drexciya,
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.