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 France and from Mumbai.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Salvador.
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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the punk 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 Happenings. All the underground hits.
All Q and Not U tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Boogie Down Productions record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Public Enemy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Warren Ellis,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
the Sonics,
The Zeros,
Sandy B,
Fat Boys,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
John Holt,
Quando Quango,
The Stooges,
Arcadia,
Dorothy Ashby,
Lee Hazlewood,
Marvin Gaye,
Barclay James Harvest,
Henry Cow,
Grauzone,
Prince Buster,
Gang Green,
Depeche Mode,
Rosa Yemen,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Lungfish,
Brand Nubian,
Babytalk,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Crispian St. Peters,
Section 25,
Lower 48,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Five Americans,
Stiv Bators,
Jeff Lynne,
Boogie Down Productions,
Cybotron,
Schoolly D,
Jeff Mills,
The Cure,
Cal Tjader,
Swell Maps,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Cecil Taylor,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Rakim,
The Selecter,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Shuggie Otis,
Grey Daturas,
Jacob Miller,
Nico,
Blancmange,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Fall,
The Count Five,
Fatback Band,
Iggy Pop,
The Fortunes,
Black Flag,
The Barracudas,
Jeru the Damaja,
Stereo Dub,
The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C.
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.