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 Suriname and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 808 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 Nico to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Desert Stars 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Schoolly D,
Joey Negro,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Das Ding,
The Zeros,
Soul Sonic Force,
Tomorrow,
The Detroit Cobras,
Desert Stars,
The Cure,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Stetsasonic,
Rosa Yemen,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Pretty Things,
Wasted Youth,
The Grass Roots,
Kurtis Blow,
Easy Going,
Alton Ellis,
48th St. Collective,
Terry Callier,
Black Bananas,
The United States of America,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Lyres,
Jesper Dahlback,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Mission of Burma,
The Walker Brothers,
Swans,
Hoover,
Supertramp,
The Blackbyrds,
Bronski Beat,
Ohio Players,
Erykah Badu,
Ossler,
The Angels of Light,
Camberwell Now,
Sam Rivers,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Skarface,
Reagan Youth,
Mars,
Cheater Slicks,
Deakin,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Pylon,
The Beau Brummels,
Jeru the Damaja,
Ludus,
Qualms,
A Certain Ratio,
Harry Pussy,
John Holt,
Siglo XX,
Niagra,
Cameo,
The Star Department,
The Sonics,
China Crisis,
Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco.
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.