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 Seychelles and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Banda Bassotti to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 48th St. Collective. All the underground hits.
All Kings Of Tomorrow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Maurizio 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cure,
Crooked Eye,
Man Eating Sloth,
Warsaw,
Alphaville,
AZ,
Lebanon Hanover,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Happenings,
Ohio Players,
The Names,
One Last Wish,
Kurtis Blow,
Pet Shop Boys,
Joey Negro,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Funkadelic,
The Slackers,
Lou Reed,
The Five Americans,
The Gories,
L. Decosne,
Tomorrow,
Patti Smith,
These Immortal Souls,
Y Pants,
Joe Smooth,
H. Thieme,
Mantronix,
Supertramp,
Electric Prunes,
Skarface,
The Smoke,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Standells,
Eric B and Rakim,
Isaac Hayes,
Deadbeat,
The Cowsills,
June of 44,
Loose Ends,
The Offenders,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Make Up,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Ice-T,
Bizarre Inc.,
Niagra,
Andrew Hill,
Alice Coltrane,
The Saints,
Vladislav Delay,
Sonny Sharrock,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Sound,
Hoover,
Visage,
Harmonia,
Minutemen, Minutemen, Minutemen, Minutemen.
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.