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 Zimbabwe and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Seoul.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe 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 Chrome to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Joensuu 1685. All the underground hits.
All The New Christs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oppenheimer Analysis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Erasure,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Marine Girls,
Rapeman,
John Lydon,
The Remains,
Idris Muhammad,
Sexual Harrassment,
Black Sheep,
Alton Ellis,
Colin Newman,
Deepchord,
Hardrive,
Terry Callier,
Bill Wells,
Y Pants,
Yazoo,
Rotary Connection,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Susan Cadogan,
Graham Central Station,
The United States of America,
Subhumans,
Bizarre Inc.,
Cheater Slicks,
Jeru the Damaja,
Icehouse,
Carl Craig,
Grey Daturas,
The Raincoats,
John Foxx,
Sister Nancy,
Shoche,
Blossom Toes,
Letta Mbulu,
Tropical Tobacco,
Fluxion,
These Immortal Souls,
Jacob Miller,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Eddi Front,
Black Pus,
Talk Talk,
Minutemen,
Gang Starr,
Faraquet,
The Vogues,
The Litter,
DJ Style,
Tim Buckley,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Throbbing Gristle,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Bronski Beat,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Lucky Dragons,
Scott Walker,
Ronan,
Scrapy,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Quadrant, Quadrant, Quadrant, Quadrant.
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.