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 Swaziland and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Ituana to the disco 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 Iggy Pop. All the underground hits.
All Brick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang 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 clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
The Angels of Light,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Babytalk,
Roy Ayers,
Nation of Ulysses,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
AZ,
Vladislav Delay,
CMW,
Eve St. Jones,
Pagans,
The Blues Magoos,
Television Personalities,
FM Einheit,
Neil Young,
Alphaville,
Derrick May,
The Litter,
Nik Kershaw,
Gong,
Lyres,
Fear,
Half Japanese,
Outsiders,
Make Up,
Magma,
Black Pus,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Bill Wells,
John Coltrane,
Delta 5,
Man Parrish,
ABC,
The Zeros,
Henry Cow,
The Raincoats,
Agent Orange,
Lou Reed,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Skarface,
Rapeman,
Eurythmics,
Isaac Hayes,
Faust,
The Detroit Cobras,
Symarip,
The Leaves,
Bobby Sherman,
Organ,
The Happenings,
Lebanon Hanover,
Can,
Dawn Penn,
Gang Gang Dance,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Tomorrow,
the Normal,
The Young Rascals,
Cymande,
UT,
Lou Christie,
Kaleidoscope,
The Monks, The Monks, The Monks, The Monks.
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.