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 East Timor and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Theoretical Girls 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 A Certain Ratio. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott Heron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sound Behaviour record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dawn Penn record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Arab on Radar,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Agent Orange,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
F. McDonald,
OOIOO,
The Gun Club,
Archie Shepp,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Josef K,
Man Parrish,
The Move,
Bad Manners,
Spandau Ballet,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Red Krayola,
Simply Red,
Inner City,
the Sonics,
Ice-T,
Soul Sonic Force,
Ultravox,
Delta 5,
The Doobie Brothers,
Pulsallama,
The Golliwogs,
Popol Vuh,
Robert Wyatt,
Television Personalities,
June Days,
Moss Icon,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Pussy Galore,
Tears for Fears,
Joe Smooth,
Crash Course in Science,
These Immortal Souls,
Kurtis Blow,
Ludus,
The Knickerbockers,
The Blues Magoos,
Traffic Nightmare,
Kas Product,
Groovy Waters,
Sonny Sharrock,
Judy Mowatt,
DJ Style,
Sound Behaviour,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Happenings,
Johnny Osbourne,
Suburban Knight,
Lungfish,
Crime,
Zero Boys,
Chris & Cosey,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Pretty Things,
Derrick May,
Laurel Aitken,
Goldenarms,
Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker.
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.