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 South Africa and from London.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Marmalade to the dance 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 The Walker Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Unrelated Segments tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 linndrum and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Technova record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
Altered Images,
The Gap Band,
Minny Pops,
Nik Kershaw,
Lower 48,
Rhythm & Sound,
Peter and Kerry,
Scion,
Beasts of Bourbon,
F. McDonald,
UT,
Blossom Toes,
Andrew Hill,
Sugar Minott,
Supertramp,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Dawn Penn,
Amazonics,
Todd Rundgren,
Cameo,
Radio Birdman,
The J.B.'s,
Fear,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Detroit Cobras,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Vainqueur,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
the Association,
The Offenders,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The United States of America,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Barbara Tucker,
Bobby Byrd,
The Toasters,
Glenn Branca,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Spoonie Gee,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Robert Hood,
Hasil Adkins,
The Saints,
EPMD,
the Fania All-Stars,
Cybotron,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Sonics,
Brick,
The Fire Engines,
Half Japanese,
Barry Ungar,
Ornette Coleman,
Organ,
Marc Almond,
Urselle,
Sam Rivers,
Interpol,
The Neon Judgement,
Joe Finger, Joe Finger, Joe Finger, Joe Finger.
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.