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 Russia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Gang Green to the rock kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. All the underground hits.
All Slave tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fela Kuti record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DNA record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
The Names,
Gabor Szabo,
Model 500,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Country Teasers,
Bobby Sherman,
Spandau Ballet,
Dorothy Ashby,
Motorama,
The Last Poets,
Trumans Water,
Siglo XX,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Rosa Yemen,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Quando Quango,
Sällskapet,
Max Romeo,
Barbara Tucker,
Rekid,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Easy Going,
Marc Almond,
Alton Ellis,
Brand Nubian,
Susan Cadogan,
The Cowsills,
CMW,
The Fugs,
Talk Talk,
KRS-One,
The Barracudas,
Juan Atkins,
Erasure,
Rakim,
The Fortunes,
Metal Thangz,
Black Bananas,
The Human League,
Harpers Bizarre,
Blake Baxter,
Babytalk,
R.M.O.,
The Detroit Cobras,
Nick Fraelich,
Angry Samoans,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Inner City,
The Flesh Eaters,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Roger Hodgson,
Sound Behaviour,
Arab on Radar,
The Dave Clark Five,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Crispy Ambulance,
Robert Görl,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.