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 Niger and from Sao Paulo.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Neil Young & Crazy Horse to the techno 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 Isaac Hayes. All the underground hits.
All The Walker Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Don Cherry 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fortunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eurythmics,
Can,
The Blues Magoos,
Junior Murvin,
Boredoms,
Procol Harum,
Section 25,
Oblivians,
New York Dolls,
Roy Ayers,
Jawbox,
The Skatalites,
Visage,
The Gories,
Newcleus,
World's Most,
Magazine,
Donald Byrd,
Cameo,
Henry Cow,
Maurizio,
Drive Like Jehu,
Eyeless In Gaza,
K-Klass,
Mission of Burma,
Altered Images,
The Fire Engines,
Girls At Our Best!,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Radiopuhelimet,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Marcia Griffiths,
Joy Division,
Pierre Henry,
The Count Five,
Model 500,
Matthew Bourne,
Steve Hackett,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Cure,
Bootsy Collins,
DJ Style,
Freddie Wadling,
The New Christs,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Duran Duran,
June Days,
Kerrie Biddell,
Lightning Bolt,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Skriet,
Sparks,
Andrew Hill,
John Holt,
Smog,
Avey Tare,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
cv313,
Hashim,
Fatback Band, Fatback Band, Fatback Band, Fatback Band.
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.