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 Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Winnipeg.
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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the organ 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 Soft Cell to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The Selecter. All the underground hits.
All Unrelated Segments tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bootsy's Rubber Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bootsy's Rubber Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joy Division,
Crooked Eye,
The Smiths,
Moby Grape,
New Order,
Prince Buster,
Bush Tetras,
Pagans,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Sonics,
Technova,
R.M.O.,
Dave Gahan,
Freddie Wadling,
The Evens,
The Last Poets,
Bauhaus,
Television,
Audionom,
Marmalade,
Don Cherry,
Model 500,
Intrusion,
Thee Headcoats,
Bill Near,
Stiv Bators,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Misunderstood,
Ohio Players,
Sex Pistols,
Eurythmics,
Unrelated Segments,
Metal Thangz,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Mars,
The Trojans,
Guru Guru,
Parry Music,
ABBA,
The Litter,
Flamin' Groovies,
Ultravox,
Royal Trux,
Oneida,
Average White Band,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Shadows of Knight,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Symarip,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Theoretical Girls,
Rosa Yemen,
Skriet,
Malaria!,
Outsiders,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Eric Dolphy,
Pussy Galore,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Black Pus,
the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell.
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.