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 Algeria and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Shanghai.
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 synthesizer 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 John Holt to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Robert Wyatt. All the underground hits.
All Ronnie Foster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Parry Music record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Starr 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?
David Bowie,
Scott Walker,
The Toasters,
Barry Ungar,
Man Eating Sloth,
the Human League,
Essential Logic,
Organ,
Accadde A,
Lee Hazlewood,
Terrestrial Tones,
Brand Nubian,
The Fire Engines,
Icehouse,
The Barracudas,
X-Ray Spex,
Bob Dylan,
The Five Americans,
Ronnie Foster,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Funky Four + One,
Toni Rubio,
Carl Craig,
DJ Sneak,
Crime,
Aloha Tigers,
Iggy Pop,
Wings,
Kerri Chandler,
Q65,
Ralphi Rosario,
T.S.O.L.,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Dead C,
Index,
Zero Boys,
Eli Mardock,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Offenders,
Nik Kershaw,
Swans,
The Flesh Eaters,
Gong,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Sällskapet,
Nas,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Saints,
Cal Tjader,
Scrapy,
Pantaleimon,
Alison Limerick,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Nico,
John Holt,
Jeru the Damaja,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Popol Vuh,
Eden Ahbez,
The Residents,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks, Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks, Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks, Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks.
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.