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 Solomon Islands and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 The Trojans to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Anthony Braxton. All the underground hits.
All The Angels of Light tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Soft Cell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 sitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Camouflage record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
Scott Walker,
The Fall,
Fugazi,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Minnie Riperton,
The Blues Magoos,
Minutemen,
David McCallum,
Anakelly,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Janne Schatter,
Jacques Brel,
Fatback Band,
Sarah Menescal,
Flipper,
ABC,
Angry Samoans,
Rites of Spring,
Gong,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Severed Heads,
The Slackers,
Robert Hood,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Whodini,
David Bowie,
Ludus,
Cameo,
Simply Red,
This Heat,
Robert Görl,
Bad Manners,
Terrestrial Tones,
A Certain Ratio,
The Trojans,
Moebius,
Monks,
The Divine Comedy,
Gerry Rafferty,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Nas,
Animal Collective,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Pierre Henry,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Vainqueur,
Bluetip,
L. Decosne,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Last Poets,
Sexual Harrassment,
Todd Rundgren,
Robert Wyatt,
Man Parrish,
Ken Boothe,
The Cramps,
Quantec,
Symarip,
Pole,
the Human League,
Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock.
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.