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 Ecuador and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the oboe 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 Pet Shop Boys to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Hot Snakes. All the underground hits.
All The Misunderstood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sam Rivers 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Organ record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
Marine Girls,
The Remains,
The Misunderstood,
U.S. Maple,
The Doors,
The Durutti Column,
Make Up,
Yazoo,
These Immortal Souls,
One Last Wish,
Stockholm Monsters,
Hoover,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Kayak,
Chrome,
Sound Behaviour,
Maurizio,
Susan Cadogan,
The Grass Roots,
Mr. Review,
Jawbox,
Metal Thangz,
Porter Ricks,
48th St. Collective,
PIL,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Stetsasonic,
The Leaves,
Deepchord,
Surgeon,
Isaac Hayes,
Agent Orange,
Man Parrish,
Tim Buckley,
Ken Boothe,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Zero Boys,
Rotary Connection,
James White and The Blacks,
Fatback Band,
Slick Rick,
The Fire Engines,
Matthew Bourne,
The Detroit Cobras,
Aswad,
R.M.O.,
Grauzone,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Ten City,
Scrapy,
Gregory Isaacs,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Marcia Griffiths,
Circle Jerks,
Monks,
Gang of Four,
E-Dancer,
Swans,
Radiopuhelimet, Radiopuhelimet, Radiopuhelimet, Radiopuhelimet.
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.