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 Bhutan and from Woodstock.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Roger Hodgson to the funk 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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane. All the underground hits.
All Frankie Knuckles tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-101 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Morten Harket record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Faust,
Zapp,
L. Decosne,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Morten Harket,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Patti Smith,
The Music Machine,
Roger Hodgson,
The Mummies,
The Blues Magoos,
Fatback Band,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Marmalade,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Lakeside,
48th St. Collective,
Pet Shop Boys,
Glambeats Corp.,
Parry Music,
The Wake,
Cameo,
Crash Course in Science,
Rotary Connection,
The Slits,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Fluxion,
Mary Jane Girls,
Cecil Taylor,
Wings,
Mark Hollis,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Fad Gadget,
The Sonics,
Severed Heads,
Pole,
Half Japanese,
10cc,
Minor Threat,
Malaria!,
Derrick May,
Crispy Ambulance,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Gladiators,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
X-Ray Spex,
Matthew Bourne,
Marvin Gaye,
Audionom,
Jacob Miller,
Aural Exciters,
La Düsseldorf,
Bill Wells,
Aaron Thompson,
The Zeros,
Crispian St. Peters,
Lou Christie,
Todd Rundgren,
Erasure,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade.
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.