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 Somalia and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell to the funk 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 Boredoms. All the underground hits.
All Graham Central Station tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Organ record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wings record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Wasted Youth,
Magma,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Spandau Ballet,
Alphaville,
Little Man,
Absolute Body Control,
The Fuzztones,
Be Bop Deluxe,
La Düsseldorf,
Terry Callier,
B.T. Express,
48th St. Collective,
K-Klass,
Deadbeat,
Flamin' Groovies,
Piero Umiliani,
Sugar Minott,
Barry Ungar,
Traffic Nightmare,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
John Foxx,
Symarip,
Camouflage,
Althea and Donna,
Roxette,
The Doors,
Soul Sonic Force,
the Soft Cell,
Parry Music,
Harpers Bizarre,
Cecil Taylor,
Skarface,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Cybotron,
Kerrie Biddell,
Nirvana,
David Bowie,
Grandmaster Flash,
Aural Exciters,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Fluxion,
Television,
Sexual Harrassment,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Barrington Levy,
Al Stewart,
Slave,
The Index,
the Swans,
The Techniques,
Black Bananas,
Freddie Wadling,
New Age Steppers,
Isaac Hayes,
Marine Girls,
Monolake,
The Moody Blues,
Max Romeo,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Mandrill, Mandrill, Mandrill, Mandrill.
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.