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 Equatorial Guinea and from New York.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Slackers 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 PIL. All the underground hits.
All H. Thieme tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ludus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Todd Terry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Soulsonic Force,
Bobby Womack,
Terrestrial Tones,
Robert Wyatt,
The Monks,
Chrome,
The Victims,
The Angels of Light,
Fugazi,
Hot Snakes,
Joy Division,
The Saints,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Wolf Eyes,
Faust,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Sugar Minott,
Drive Like Jehu,
Scion,
Lightning Bolt,
Harry Pussy,
The Searchers,
Warsaw,
X-102,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Last Poets,
Babytalk,
Crooked Eye,
Underground Resistance,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ponytail,
Pantytec,
Pussy Galore,
Camouflage,
Sun City Girls,
The Red Krayola,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Nas,
Harpers Bizarre,
Dave Gahan,
Fat Boys,
The Leaves,
LL Cool J,
Massinfluence,
The Busters,
Subhumans,
Das Ding,
Laurel Aitken,
Gregory Isaacs,
Mr. Review,
David Bowie,
Radio Birdman,
Wire,
Graham Central Station,
Popol Vuh,
Schoolly D,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
T. Rex,
The Names,
Royal Trux,
Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox.
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.