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 East Timor and from Copenhagen.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Johannesburg.
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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the marimba 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 Nick Fraelich to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Oneida. All the underground hits.
All The Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roy Ayers Ubiquity 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scrapy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Litter,
Barclay James Harvest,
Magma,
Sight & Sound,
48th St. Collective,
The Dead C,
Dennis Brown,
Flipper,
Mark Hollis,
Iggy Pop,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Talk Talk,
Gastr Del Sol,
Qualms,
The Monks,
Negative Approach,
T. Rex,
Marmalade,
The Names,
the Slits,
Groovy Waters,
The New Christs,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Howard Jones,
Mission of Burma,
Bobby Byrd,
Agitation Free,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Procol Harum,
Suicide,
Das Ding,
LL Cool J,
Big Daddy Kane,
Liliput,
Man Parrish,
Slick Rick,
Bush Tetras,
Barry Ungar,
Morten Harket,
Franke,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Ten City,
Blossom Toes,
Agent Orange,
The Fall,
The Gun Club,
Simply Red,
Hashim,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Crispian St. Peters,
Oblivians,
Ken Boothe,
The Gap Band,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Stockholm Monsters,
the Fania All-Stars,
Moebius,
Piero Umiliani,
Matthew Halsall,
K-Klass,
Vainqueur, Vainqueur, Vainqueur, Vainqueur.
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.