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 Kenya and from Tokyo.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba 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 Fela Kuti to the crunk 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 Blancmange. All the underground hits.
All Kool Moe Dee tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cure record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Birthday Party,
Morten Harket,
ABBA,
Scrapy,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Reuben Wilson,
Saccharine Trust,
Letta Mbulu,
Pagans,
CMW,
Smog,
Little Man,
MDC,
Erasure,
Oblivians,
Essential Logic,
Ronnie Foster,
Sex Pistols,
The Sonics,
The Pop Group,
The Techniques,
Patti Smith,
Fugazi,
The Litter,
Marvin Gaye,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Neon Judgement,
Urselle,
Jacques Brel,
Harmonia,
Rekid,
U.S. Maple,
Blake Baxter,
Shoche,
Average White Band,
The Modern Lovers,
Crispian St. Peters,
cv313,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Gories,
Eve St. Jones,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Excepter,
The Zeros,
Ice-T,
Marc Almond,
Underground Resistance,
Eddi Front,
Alison Limerick,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Girls At Our Best!,
Siglo XX,
Lungfish,
The Dirtbombs,
Trumans Water,
Pharoah Sanders,
Bad Manners,
Hot Snakes,
Soft Machine,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.