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 Spain and from New York.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Leaves to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Letta Mbulu. All the underground hits.
All Los Fastidios tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eli Mardock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Toni Rubio,
Clear Light,
Sly & The Family Stone,
These Immortal Souls,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Mark Hollis,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Visage,
Sister Nancy,
Severed Heads,
LL Cool J,
Steve Hackett,
Ultravox,
the Human League,
New Order,
The Sound,
Gabor Szabo,
PIL,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Dirtbombs,
H. Thieme,
The Modern Lovers,
Skarface,
The Buckinghams,
Colin Newman,
Yusef Lateef,
Eddi Front,
Dorothy Ashby,
Barbara Tucker,
Joy Division,
Country Teasers,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Icehouse,
Hoover,
The Litter,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Selecter,
Boz Scaggs,
Little Man,
The Monks,
Kenny Larkin,
Qualms,
Maleditus Sound,
Lalann,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Cluster,
Desert Stars,
Radiopuhelimet,
Yellowson,
OOIOO,
Easy Going,
Gong,
K-Klass,
Laurel Aitken,
Cymande,
The Birthday Party,
Blake Baxter,
Joey Negro,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Electric Prunes,
Adolescents,
Cybotron,
Minny Pops,
Outsiders, Outsiders, Outsiders, Outsiders.
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.