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 Mozambique and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Sam Rivers to the electroclash 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 Oppenheimer Analysis. All the underground hits.
All Notorious Big And Bone Thugs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kings Of Tomorrow 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tom Boy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Terry Callier,
The Wake,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Slits,
The Busters,
Crime,
The Seeds,
The Detroit Cobras,
Clear Light,
Sound Behaviour,
The Young Rascals,
The Remains,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Siglo XX,
Fat Boys,
John Cale,
Nick Fraelich,
Bill Near,
Grey Daturas,
The Names,
Stiv Bators,
cv313,
DJ Style,
Robert Görl,
Roxette,
Eric B and Rakim,
Albert Ayler,
Theoretical Girls,
Eve St. Jones,
Swell Maps,
Aural Exciters,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Roger Hodgson,
Neu!,
Amon Düül,
Interpol,
Country Teasers,
Godley & Creme,
Spoonie Gee,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Black Moon,
The Velvet Underground,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Cameo,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Cluster,
Wally Richardson,
Rosa Yemen,
Symarip,
Toni Rubio,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Slackers,
David Bowie,
Sarah Menescal,
Girls At Our Best!,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Bobby Sherman,
Porter Ricks,
Delon & Dalcan,
Tubeway Army,
Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun.
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.