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 Uruguay and from Accra.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South 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 Gregory Isaacs to the techno 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx. All the underground hits.
All Grauzone tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Max Romeo 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fat Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Man Parrish,
Derrick May,
The Victims,
Moby Grape,
Bronski Beat,
Mantronix,
The Smoke,
Lungfish,
Monks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Danielle Patucci,
The Kinks,
Popol Vuh,
Bootsy Collins,
Swell Maps,
H. Thieme,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Delta 5,
The Divine Comedy,
Freddie Wadling,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Anakelly,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Visage,
Andrew Hill,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Index,
Reagan Youth,
Terrestrial Tones,
the Human League,
Skaos,
The Monks,
The Vogues,
OOIOO,
Jeff Mills,
Soft Cell,
Hasil Adkins,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Vladislav Delay,
Peter and Kerry,
Das Ding,
Echospace,
The Human League,
Joe Smooth,
The Remains,
Pylon,
Maurizio,
Sixth Finger,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Cramps,
Arab on Radar,
John Cale,
Harmonia,
Tres Demented,
Kool Moe Dee,
Skarface,
Eden Ahbez,
Zapp,
Crispian St. Peters,
Babytalk,
Neu!,
The Beau Brummels,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth.
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.