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 Azerbaijan and from Jakarta.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Arthur Verocai to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Litter. All the underground hits.
All Joe Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Johnny Osbourne,
Liliput,
Kevin Saunderson,
Nas,
Aaron Thompson,
Deepchord,
Joey Negro,
The Associates,
The Doors,
Sarah Menescal,
Sandy B,
The Monochrome Set,
Kool Moe Dee,
Japan,
Mantronix,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Reuben Wilson,
The Slackers,
Mars,
Suicide,
Dennis Brown,
The Mummies,
Sällskapet,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Barclay James Harvest,
Janne Schatter,
Tomorrow,
Ultravox,
Hardrive,
Althea and Donna,
Archie Shepp,
the Bar-Kays,
Gong,
Eddi Front,
Icehouse,
Matthew Bourne,
Siglo XX,
Joensuu 1685,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Television,
Danielle Patucci,
Jacques Brel,
James White and The Blacks,
Sun City Girls,
Aural Exciters,
Inner City,
Sound Behaviour,
Crooked Eye,
Pet Shop Boys,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Ludus,
The Last Poets,
Judy Mowatt,
Funky Four + One,
The Angels of Light,
Brothers Johnson,
Warren Ellis,
Fat Boys,
Crispy Ambulance,
Soft Machine,
Bang on a Can All-Stars, Bang on a Can All-Stars, Bang on a Can All-Stars, Bang on a Can All-Stars.
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.