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 Cape Verde and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Jeff Lynne 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 Kurtis Blow. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deadbeat 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Vogues record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Martian,
DNA,
Lightning Bolt,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Hoover,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Alphaville,
Bootsy Collins,
New York Dolls,
Marine Girls,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Sexual Harrassment,
Porter Ricks,
Dawn Penn,
Ken Boothe,
Judy Mowatt,
Bizarre Inc.,
John Holt,
The Searchers,
The Saints,
The Selecter,
The Raincoats,
Kenny Larkin,
Nik Kershaw,
The Walker Brothers,
The Leaves,
Soul Sonic Force,
Girls At Our Best!,
Subhumans,
the Sonics,
The Associates,
Harmonia,
Mr. Review,
The Knickerbockers,
Monolake,
Gil Scott Heron,
a-ha,
Eve St. Jones,
Scientists,
8 Eyed Spy,
Davy DMX,
Fat Boys,
Bobby Sherman,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
EPMD,
The Techniques,
Roxette,
Marc Almond,
The Dirtbombs,
Bauhaus,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Standells,
Shuggie Otis,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Connie Case,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Last Poets,
Steve Hackett,
Terrestrial Tones,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Todd Terry,
Roy Ayers,
Nas, Nas, Nas, Nas.
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.