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 Rwanda and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
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 Gian Franco Pienzio to the rock 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 The Sisters of Mercy. All the underground hits.
All Ultimate Spinach tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Knickerbockers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 an oboe and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Maleditus Sound record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pulsallama,
a-ha,
Shoche,
The Cramps,
Erasure,
Jeru the Damaja,
Stockholm Monsters,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Flesh Eaters,
R.M.O.,
Dorothy Ashby,
Cameo,
Hasil Adkins,
Agent Orange,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Fugs,
Jawbox,
Barrington Levy,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Skatalites,
Brand Nubian,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Dark Day,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Victims,
Eric B and Rakim,
Colin Newman,
Franke,
Eve St. Jones,
Lower 48,
Spandau Ballet,
The Slits,
The Offenders,
Marshall Jefferson,
Wolf Eyes,
Wasted Youth,
Jeff Mills,
Judy Mowatt,
Joensuu 1685,
Pierre Henry,
The Move,
Average White Band,
Ice-T,
Sound Behaviour,
James White and The Blacks,
Interpol,
The Shadows of Knight,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Kenny Larkin,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Buckinghams,
Harry Pussy,
These Immortal Souls,
The Doors,
Newcleus,
Accadde A,
Desert Stars,
Q65,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Walker Brothers,
Robert Wyatt,
Eurythmics, Eurythmics, Eurythmics, Eurythmics.
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.