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 Bangladesh and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Al Stewart 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 T.S.O.L.. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Trumans Water record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deadbeat,
The Gladiators,
Sällskapet,
Stetsasonic,
Connie Case,
Dawn Penn,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Grass Roots,
Robert Görl,
The Durutti Column,
Marmalade,
Frankie Knuckles,
Pulsallama,
Buzzcocks,
Sixth Finger,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Ohio Players,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Interpol,
Urselle,
Barrington Levy,
Liliput,
Toni Rubio,
Desert Stars,
Ken Boothe,
Adolescents,
Matthew Bourne,
The Velvet Underground,
The Doors,
Byron Stingily,
The New Christs,
Jeru the Damaja,
Porter Ricks,
Babytalk,
Lyres,
D'Angelo,
Pantaleimon,
Chrome,
Prince Buster,
Nils Olav,
Theoretical Girls,
Mad Mike,
Erasure,
Bush Tetras,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Fela Kuti,
Vladislav Delay,
Graham Central Station,
Soft Cell,
Ronan,
The Blues Magoos,
Nas,
The Invisible,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Royal Trux,
Rakim,
Ultimate Spinach,
Steve Hackett,
The American Breed,
Suicide,
The Black Dice,
the Human League,
Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox.
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.