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 Korea North and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 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 Roxette to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Scott Walker + Sunn O))). All the underground hits.
All Dark Day tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dead C record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Country Teasers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Star Department,
Pulsallama,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Standells,
Blake Baxter,
The Buckinghams,
Eli Mardock,
Kaleidoscope,
Tomorrow,
Todd Terry,
R.M.O.,
Minutemen,
Mr. Review,
Skriet,
Radio Birdman,
Marcia Griffiths,
Barrington Levy,
Little Man,
Skaos,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Moebius,
Kool Moe Dee,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Gabor Szabo,
Yaz,
Pet Shop Boys,
Khruangbin,
Gang Starr,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
John Holt,
The Fire Engines,
Ice-T,
Al Stewart,
Jeff Lynne,
Ultra Naté,
the Association,
Alison Limerick,
Tres Demented,
Lakeside,
Inner City,
The Martian,
New Order,
Camouflage,
Aloha Tigers,
DJ Style,
K-Klass,
Marine Girls,
The Kinks,
Accadde A,
Ultravox,
the Slits,
Groovy Waters,
Von Mondo,
Supertramp,
LL Cool J,
Livin' Joy,
Yellowson,
Rod Modell,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Offenders,
Maleditus Sound,
Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra.
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.