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 Samoa 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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Spokane.
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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Bob Dylan to the dance 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 Sun Ra Arkestra. All the underground hits.
All Funkadelic tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Absolute Body Control 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marshall Jefferson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cheater Slicks,
F. McDonald,
Suicide,
Drexciya,
The Move,
Laurel Aitken,
Sällskapet,
Visage,
Public Image Ltd.,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Trumans Water,
Skarface,
Colin Newman,
Steve Hackett,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Ornette Coleman,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Scrapy,
Stiv Bators,
Kayak,
Barry Ungar,
The Music Machine,
Bootsy Collins,
Gastr Del Sol,
the Sonics,
The Dave Clark Five,
Graham Central Station,
Main Source,
Amon Düül,
Mandrill,
The Slits,
Lucky Dragons,
Derrick May,
John Lydon,
Vladislav Delay,
Donald Byrd,
Toni Rubio,
Jandek,
Moby Grape,
Eve St. Jones,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Judy Mowatt,
Black Sheep,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Simply Red,
The Divine Comedy,
The Last Poets,
Iggy Pop,
Peter and Kerry,
The Kinks,
The Dead C,
Charles Mingus,
Warsaw,
Max Romeo,
Bluetip,
Gang of Four,
The Selecter,
Thee Headcoats,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Soft Cell,
Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust.
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.