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 Brazil 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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1971 at the first Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Freddie Wadling to the disco 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 The Angels of Light. All the underground hits.
All Television tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Derrick May 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Art Ensemble Of Chicago record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Standells,
Inner City,
The Skatalites,
The Remains,
Public Image Ltd.,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Moebius,
Gang Gang Dance,
Cybotron,
T.S.O.L.,
Anakelly,
Heaven 17,
Deepchord,
The Doors,
Sex Pistols,
The Fire Engines,
Yaz,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Matthew Halsall,
Groovy Waters,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Model 500,
Traffic Nightmare,
Howard Jones,
Judy Mowatt,
Jacques Brel,
Con Funk Shun,
Sound Behaviour,
Chris & Cosey,
the Germs,
Arab on Radar,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Derrick Morgan,
Essential Logic,
Toni Rubio,
Tropical Tobacco,
Big Daddy Kane,
World's Most,
The Flesh Eaters,
Schoolly D,
Bobby Womack,
Lou Reed,
The Vogues,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Maurizio,
Rod Modell,
the Soft Cell,
The Sound,
Television Personalities,
Patti Smith,
A Certain Ratio,
Y Pants,
Minny Pops,
Ultravox,
L. Decosne,
Buzzcocks,
Blossom Toes,
Sugar Minott,
Ohio Players,
X-Ray Spex,
Ultimate Spinach,
Motorama, Motorama, Motorama, Motorama.
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.