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 Bhutan and from New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Heaven 17 to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Rites of Spring. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brick 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Boredoms record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Faust,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Quadrant,
Man Parrish,
Subhumans,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Radio Birdman,
Harry Pussy,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Soul Sonic Force,
Cecil Taylor,
Yaz,
These Immortal Souls,
Masters at Work,
Nico,
New York Dolls,
Jandek,
Mandrill,
Marcia Griffiths,
Mantronix,
Tears for Fears,
Eve St. Jones,
Eurythmics,
The Busters,
Freddie Wadling,
Gang of Four,
Susan Cadogan,
Barbara Tucker,
The Gun Club,
Delon & Dalcan,
Essential Logic,
Scratch Acid,
The Fortunes,
Nik Kershaw,
Archie Shepp,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Dead C,
The Electric Prunes,
Robert Görl,
Brick,
Boz Scaggs,
The Dirtbombs,
DJ Sneak,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Thompson Twins,
The Angels of Light,
Gong,
Nas,
L. Decosne,
Siglo XX,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Sixth Finger,
The Young Rascals,
the Normal,
Au Pairs,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
the Germs,
X-101,
The Invisible,
Roger Hodgson,
One Last Wish,
the Bar-Kays, the Bar-Kays, the Bar-Kays, the Bar-Kays.
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.