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 Lithuania and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Pussy Galore 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 Rakim. All the underground hits.
All Ituana tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aaron Thompson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blues Magoos record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Bananas,
Chrome,
The Detroit Cobras,
Crispian St. Peters,
Kenny Larkin,
Make Up,
Wally Richardson,
Royal Trux,
Erasure,
FM Einheit,
Harry Pussy,
Pantytec,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Warsaw,
The Toasters,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Stooges,
Soft Cell,
Aaron Thompson,
The Searchers,
Bronski Beat,
Porter Ricks,
Bobby Byrd,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
F. McDonald,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Alison Limerick,
Infiniti,
Rosa Yemen,
Swell Maps,
The Last Poets,
Magma,
Qualms,
T. Rex,
The Five Americans,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Reuben Wilson,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Technova,
Matthew Bourne,
EPMD,
Bootsy Collins,
Danielle Patucci,
The Raincoats,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Lalo Schifrin,
John Holt,
Malaria!,
Rapeman,
New Age Steppers,
David Axelrod,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Spoonie Gee,
The Dead C,
Visage,
The Angels of Light,
Piero Umiliani,
Gong,
New York Dolls,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.