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 East Timor and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Vaughan Mason & Crew to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Brothers Johnson. All the underground hits.
All Mandrill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sex Pistols 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Carl Craig record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Angels of Light,
Jeru the Damaja,
Crispian St. Peters,
Pussy Galore,
Los Fastidios,
The Dave Clark Five,
Nils Olav,
Kevin Saunderson,
Althea and Donna,
Nas,
Radiohead,
U.S. Maple,
Quando Quango,
Cal Tjader,
Cheater Slicks,
Sparks,
Excepter,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The New Christs,
The Raincoats,
Lightning Bolt,
Pylon,
John Foxx,
F. McDonald,
World's Most,
Reuben Wilson,
Hashim,
Intrusion,
Technova,
Can,
Dennis Brown,
Schoolly D,
Ludus,
Aswad,
K-Klass,
Warren Ellis,
Patti Smith,
Severed Heads,
Shoche,
The Evens,
Gang Gang Dance,
Chrome,
Trumans Water,
the Slits,
Black Bananas,
The Golliwogs,
Jacques Brel,
Basic Channel,
Scratch Acid,
Howard Jones,
Visage,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Young Rascals,
Alphaville,
the Swans,
Jacob Miller,
The Remains,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Pere Ubu,
Swell Maps,
Black Sheep,
Bush Tetras,
MC5,
Unwound, Unwound, Unwound, Unwound.
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.