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 Ivory Coast and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 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 Spandau Ballet to the funk 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 Make Up. All the underground hits.
All The Divine Comedy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Underground Resistance 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Mojo Men record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Moon,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Suicide,
Slave,
The Birthday Party,
Scrapy,
Bobby Sherman,
Bush Tetras,
Arab on Radar,
Big Daddy Kane,
Rakim,
Desert Stars,
Pole,
Marcia Griffiths,
Yaz,
Hasil Adkins,
The Moleskins,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Brick,
Circle Jerks,
Alton Ellis,
Fugazi,
Index,
Animal Collective,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Saints,
Quando Quango,
Barclay James Harvest,
Crooked Eye,
The Last Poets,
Throbbing Gristle,
Laurel Aitken,
Siglo XX,
Glenn Branca,
The Index,
R.M.O.,
The Velvet Underground,
Silicon Teens,
Spandau Ballet,
Lower 48,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
48th St. Collective,
Sexual Harrassment,
Todd Rundgren,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Cowsills,
8 Eyed Spy,
Swans,
Reagan Youth,
The Monochrome Set,
Deakin,
Audionom,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Johnny Osbourne,
Suburban Knight,
This Heat,
The Beau Brummels,
Grandmaster Flash,
Harry Pussy,
Soul II Soul,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs.
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.