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 Kazakhstan and from Manchester.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Tres Demented to the dance 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 Black Sheep. All the underground hits.
All Nico tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fortunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Martian,
Grandmaster Flash,
La Düsseldorf,
Isaac Hayes,
the Sonics,
Harry Pussy,
Blossom Toes,
Rakim,
The Happenings,
Toni Rubio,
The Dirtbombs,
David McCallum,
Dennis Brown,
Ultravox,
Clear Light,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Joe Smooth,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Arab on Radar,
Nick Fraelich,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The American Breed,
AZ,
Fluxion,
Magazine,
Basic Channel,
Faraquet,
The Mummies,
Sixth Finger,
Theoretical Girls,
Silicon Teens,
Joyce Sims,
Adolescents,
Excepter,
Harpers Bizarre,
Monolake,
Electric Prunes,
Negative Approach,
cv313,
The Searchers,
Bill Near,
H. Thieme,
Big Daddy Kane,
Lou Christie,
MDC,
Sandy B,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Brick,
Mission of Burma,
Eric Copeland,
Vladislav Delay,
Bang On A Can,
Suicide,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Bush Tetras,
Kayak,
Subhumans,
Harmonia,
Deadbeat,
MC5, MC5, MC5, MC5.
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.