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 Mozambique and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 James Chance & The Contortions to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Los Fastidios. All the underground hits.
All 48th St. Collective tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Technova record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a A Flock of Seagulls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Litter,
Prince Buster,
Vainqueur,
Iggy Pop,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Radiopuhelimet,
the Soft Cell,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Young Marble Giants,
Procol Harum,
Radiohead,
Gregory Isaacs,
Malaria!,
Kaleidoscope,
Essential Logic,
Morten Harket,
K-Klass,
Bush Tetras,
Black Flag,
Sam Rivers,
Derrick Morgan,
Suburban Knight,
Anakelly,
Aural Exciters,
Peter and Kerry,
Yazoo,
B.T. Express,
Lee Hazlewood,
Laurel Aitken,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Radio Birdman,
Eden Ahbez,
Harmonia,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Silicon Teens,
The United States of America,
Pantytec,
The Human League,
Dorothy Ashby,
Steve Hackett,
Girls At Our Best!,
Metal Thangz,
Roy Ayers,
Glambeats Corp.,
Sexual Harrassment,
DNA,
Zapp,
The Cowsills,
Ken Boothe,
Rosa Yemen,
Bobby Womack,
Hot Snakes,
Index,
Au Pairs,
The Names,
Reagan Youth,
Black Pus,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army, Tubeway Army.
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.