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 Taiwan and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Gil Scott Heron to the electroclash 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 Crispy Ambulance. All the underground hits.
All Skarface tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Theoretical Girls 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Idris Muhammad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Infiniti,
ABBA,
The Monks,
A Flock of Seagulls,
David Bowie,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Sandy B,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Rod Modell,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Rufus Thomas,
Black Flag,
Ultimate Spinach,
Soft Machine,
Althea and Donna,
Pole,
The Index,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Fugs,
Malaria!,
Hashim,
Jacques Brel,
Todd Terry,
Fatback Band,
The Gories,
Isaac Hayes,
Wasted Youth,
Brick,
Terry Callier,
The Pop Group,
Dual Sessions,
Duran Duran,
Au Pairs,
Shoche,
Alphaville,
Charles Mingus,
Man Parrish,
The Toasters,
Gang Starr,
Angry Samoans,
The Dirtbombs,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Cameo,
Fad Gadget,
Bob Dylan,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Tim Buckley,
Grauzone,
Funkadelic,
E-Dancer,
Mad Mike,
Negative Approach,
Ten City,
Archie Shepp,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Piero Umiliani,
Bauhaus,
Wire,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
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.