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 Saudi Arabia and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Bootsy's Rubber Band to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Sexual Harrassment. All the underground hits.
All Tres Demented tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Loose Ends record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cramps,
The Smiths,
Scrapy,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Archie Shepp,
Easy Going,
The Saints,
Ponytail,
Amazonics,
Derrick Morgan,
Pole,
Jacob Miller,
New Age Steppers,
The Shadows of Knight,
Section 25,
Ultimate Spinach,
Jacques Brel,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Kayak,
The New Christs,
Public Enemy,
Parry Music,
Drexciya,
The Victims,
Faraquet,
Deadbeat,
Donald Byrd,
Dave Gahan,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Buckinghams,
Jeff Lynne,
JFA,
Scan 7,
Heaven 17,
Janne Schatter,
The Velvet Underground,
Blancmange,
DJ Style,
Tears for Fears,
The Sound,
Crash Course in Science,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Brick,
Girls At Our Best!,
CMW,
Junior Murvin,
Brass Construction,
Smog,
Toni Rubio,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Kinks,
Steve Hackett,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Malaria!,
Moss Icon,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sexual Harrassment,
Letta Mbulu,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Monks, Monks, Monks, 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.