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 Djibouti and from Sao Paulo.
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 Jakarta and Edmonton.
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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 DNA to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Walker Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Major Organ And The Adding Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Interpol record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rakim,
Andrew Hill,
Crispian St. Peters,
John Lydon,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Fuzztones,
The Angels of Light,
Little Man,
Gang Starr,
The Kinks,
Outsiders,
Basic Channel,
Los Fastidios,
Lower 48,
FM Einheit,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
F. McDonald,
Tom Boy,
Amon Düül II,
OOIOO,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
the Soft Cell,
This Heat,
Silicon Teens,
Pussy Galore,
Fatback Band,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Josef K,
Lou Reed,
Johnny Clarke,
The Buckinghams,
Jerry Gold Smith,
D'Angelo,
Barrington Levy,
The Smiths,
The Fortunes,
Bob Dylan,
Bobby Sherman,
Young Marble Giants,
K-Klass,
Pierre Henry,
Mr. Review,
The Techniques,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Eric Copeland,
Heaven 17,
Jesper Dahlback,
Das Ding,
MDC,
Archie Shepp,
the Human League,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Lindisfarne,
New Age Steppers,
Sixth Finger,
Depeche Mode,
the Bar-Kays,
Reuben Wilson,
Pylon,
The Smoke,
Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone.
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.