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 Senegal and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Sao Paulo.
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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 The Velvet Underground to the grunge 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 Bronski Beat. All the underground hits.
All Kurtis Blow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rhythim Is Rhythim 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Can record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Warsaw,
Gichy Dan,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Animal Collective,
The Toasters,
Simply Red,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Smiths,
Dennis Brown,
Dorothy Ashby,
Flipper,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Los Fastidios,
Inner City,
Ludus,
Roxy Music,
Icehouse,
Cheater Slicks,
Marshall Jefferson,
Jandek,
Pantytec,
Man Parrish,
Aloha Tigers,
Connie Case,
Arcadia,
Shoche,
Circle Jerks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Moby Grape,
The Doors,
Camberwell Now,
Adolescents,
Erasure,
Cybotron,
Letta Mbulu,
Curtis Mayfield,
Magazine,
Fat Boys,
Silicon Teens,
June Days,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Tropical Tobacco,
Gil Scott Heron,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Mark Hollis,
Angry Samoans,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Ultimate Spinach,
Severed Heads,
Gabor Szabo,
Agitation Free,
David Axelrod,
Alison Limerick,
Marmalade,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Yusef Lateef,
Arthur Verocai,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Wings,
Franke,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux, Lizzy Mercier Descloux, Lizzy Mercier Descloux, Lizzy Mercier Descloux.
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.