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 Taiwan and from Lille.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Paris.
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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Heaven 17 to the funk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Depeche Mode. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every E-Dancer 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cybotron,
Maleditus Sound,
The Misunderstood,
Vladislav Delay,
The Busters,
Adolescents,
Michelle Simonal,
Warsaw,
DNA,
The Doors,
Thee Headcoats,
Barry Ungar,
Panda Bear,
Cecil Taylor,
Donny Hathaway,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Doobie Brothers,
Althea and Donna,
Fluxion,
Roy Ayers,
Television,
Marc Almond,
the Association,
Ohio Players,
The Zeros,
Matthew Halsall,
Ken Boothe,
These Immortal Souls,
Duran Duran,
Public Enemy,
Gichy Dan,
The Knickerbockers,
Soul Sonic Force,
Yellowson,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Oblivians,
Pole,
Tommy Roe,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Alice Coltrane,
Silicon Teens,
The Martian,
Television Personalities,
Terry Callier,
Hasil Adkins,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Golliwogs,
Erasure,
Boredoms,
Lyres,
Young Marble Giants,
Pulsallama,
Dead Boys,
Kerrie Biddell,
Toni Rubio,
Camouflage,
Malaria!,
Marcia Griffiths,
A Certain Ratio,
Prince Buster,
Curtis Mayfield,
Banda Bassotti,
Khruangbin,
Brick, Brick, Brick, Brick.
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.