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 Sweden and from Madrid.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Liaisons Dangereuses to the grime 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 Donny Hathaway. All the underground hits.
All Manfred Mann's Earth Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moss Icon 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Anthony Braxton record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Trumans Water,
Tubeway Army,
Heaven 17,
Sugar Minott,
Amazonics,
Q and Not U,
The Move,
The Blackbyrds,
48th St. Collective,
Animal Collective,
Henry Cow,
John Cale,
Fugazi,
Tears for Fears,
Ituana,
Erykah Badu,
The Shadows of Knight,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
cv313,
Skarface,
Graham Central Station,
Isaac Hayes,
Silicon Teens,
The Barracudas,
Godley & Creme,
Gang Starr,
Loose Ends,
The Doobie Brothers,
Von Mondo,
The Pretty Things,
F. McDonald,
Tres Demented,
Kayak,
The Litter,
Accadde A,
The Remains,
Lyres,
Black Moon,
The Golliwogs,
Matthew Bourne,
Faust,
L. Decosne,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Eric B and Rakim,
Boz Scaggs,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
X-Ray Spex,
Soft Cell,
Scan 7,
Inner City,
Moss Icon,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Angels of Light,
Blancmange,
Big Daddy Kane,
MDC,
Archie Shepp,
James White and The Blacks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
CMW,
Darondo,
Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron.
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.