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 Kazakhstan and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 The Tremeloes to the grime kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 World's Most. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Talk Talk record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeru the Damaja record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tim Buckley,
Lalo Schifrin,
Bill Wells,
Bob Dylan,
The Real Kids,
Dark Day,
Cameo,
Aloha Tigers,
Radio Birdman,
Tres Demented,
Alison Limerick,
Fear,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Spoonie Gee,
Duran Duran,
The Happenings,
Procol Harum,
Surgeon,
Lou Christie,
Shoche,
The Victims,
Eurythmics,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Silicon Teens,
Morten Harket,
Lyres,
The Misunderstood,
Agent Orange,
Cybotron,
Swell Maps,
The Fuzztones,
Dave Gahan,
Amazonics,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Stetsasonic,
Dorothy Ashby,
Bluetip,
Black Sheep,
Brick,
The American Breed,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Eric Dolphy,
Lalann,
Tropical Tobacco,
Rapeman,
Kerri Chandler,
Maurizio,
Hardrive,
Throbbing Gristle,
Brand Nubian,
Moby Grape,
the Human League,
Judy Mowatt,
Ohio Players,
Talk Talk,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Lebanon Hanover,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.