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 Venezuela and from Spokane.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the theremin 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 The Cosmic Jokers to the funk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Art Ensemble Of Chicago. All the underground hits.
All the Bar-Kays tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eddi Front 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tommy Roe,
Monks,
Ludus,
Laurel Aitken,
Bluetip,
Subhumans,
The Kinks,
Aaron Thompson,
Brick,
The Remains,
Technova,
One Last Wish,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Tremeloes,
Rekid,
The Detroit Cobras,
Erykah Badu,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
John Foxx,
Wolf Eyes,
The Mojo Men,
The Dave Clark Five,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Moleskins,
Bootsy Collins,
China Crisis,
Lower 48,
Scion,
Black Moon,
Scratch Acid,
Tears for Fears,
The Fortunes,
The Cowsills,
Royal Trux,
Icehouse,
Magazine,
Agent Orange,
Barbara Tucker,
Rod Modell,
the Slits,
The Fuzztones,
Juan Atkins,
Anakelly,
Y Pants,
Eve St. Jones,
The Blackbyrds,
Todd Terry,
Hot Snakes,
Chris & Cosey,
Sonny Sharrock,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Tim Buckley,
Stereo Dub,
Pantaleimon,
H. Thieme,
Suburban Knight,
Little Man,
Letta Mbulu,
Bobby Womack,
June Days,
Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell, 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.