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 Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Silicon Teens to the disco 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 The Star Department. All the underground hits.
All Rod Modell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Henry Cow record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 clarinet and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a H. Thieme record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Ultra Naté,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Jeff Mills,
Oblivians,
Stereo Dub,
the Swans,
Matthew Bourne,
Drexciya,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Scrapy,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Joe Smooth,
the Fania All-Stars,
DJ Sneak,
Aaron Thompson,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Flash Fearless,
The Birthday Party,
Sexual Harrassment,
Jeff Lynne,
Nico,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Cymande,
Neu!,
Scion,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Fugazi,
Young Marble Giants,
Rosa Yemen,
Porter Ricks,
Pylon,
Eddi Front,
Tomorrow,
Simply Red,
Sex Pistols,
Motorama,
Groovy Waters,
Morten Harket,
Grandmaster Flash,
Rotary Connection,
The Misunderstood,
X-Ray Spex,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Crime,
Von Mondo,
The Stooges,
The Beau Brummels,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Black Sheep,
Big Daddy Kane,
Saccharine Trust,
Flipper,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Boz Scaggs,
Sandy B,
The Tremeloes,
Bang On A Can,
Ossler, Ossler, Ossler, Ossler.
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.