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 Nauru and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Country Teasers to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Fania All-Stars. All the underground hits.
All Jacques Brel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every This Heat record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Circle Jerks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Babytalk,
Swell Maps,
Rakim,
Sixth Finger,
Sun City Girls,
Harmonia,
Pantytec,
Lalann,
Pole,
The Last Poets,
The Grass Roots,
Connie Case,
Deadbeat,
Marvin Gaye,
Angry Samoans,
The Blackbyrds,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Henry Cow,
Gang of Four,
The Smoke,
Graham Central Station,
Depeche Mode,
The Gun Club,
Basic Channel,
The Dead C,
Pierre Henry,
Mr. Review,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Essential Logic,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Leaves,
Anthony Braxton,
Banda Bassotti,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Crime,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Sexual Harrassment,
Franke,
Sonny Sharrock,
Eric Copeland,
Cymande,
Bill Near,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Desert Stars,
Bob Dylan,
Morten Harket,
Jesper Dahlback,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Japan,
Pulsallama,
Fad Gadget,
Eric Dolphy,
The Real Kids,
A Certain Ratio,
Avey Tare,
Judy Mowatt,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Busters,
Todd Rundgren,
Saccharine Trust,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Black Sheep, Black Sheep, Black Sheep, Black Sheep.
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.