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 Sierra Leone and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Rites of Spring to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Babytalk. All the underground hits.
All The Litter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang of Four record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ronnie Foster record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wings,
Roxette,
Masters at Work,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Slits,
Reuben Wilson,
The Pretty Things,
Electric Prunes,
The Cure,
Absolute Body Control,
Gregory Isaacs,
Silicon Teens,
The Tremeloes,
Blossom Toes,
Junior Murvin,
The Selecter,
Al Stewart,
Y Pants,
Country Teasers,
The Grass Roots,
Wasted Youth,
Franke,
Agent Orange,
Severed Heads,
The Evens,
Hardrive,
The Dave Clark Five,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Minnie Riperton,
Fela Kuti,
Hoover,
Wally Richardson,
The Velvet Underground,
Magma,
Deakin,
Maurizio,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Remains,
Technova,
the Germs,
The Kinks,
Outsiders,
John Cale,
Agitation Free,
Crispian St. Peters,
Grey Daturas,
E-Dancer,
Jeru the Damaja,
One Last Wish,
Rekid,
Index,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Soft Cell,
The Fortunes,
Adolescents,
the Human League,
Joey Negro,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Groovy Waters,
Fatback Band,
Mantronix,
David Bowie,
Shoche, Shoche, Shoche, Shoche.
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.