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 Papua New Guinea and from Seoul.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Brand Nubian to the rock 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 Tropical Tobacco. All the underground hits.
All Lee Hazlewood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kenny Larkin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
Sex Pistols,
Nation of Ulysses,
Arthur Verocai,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Toni Rubio,
The Gun Club,
Black Flag,
CMW,
Cluster,
Bang On A Can,
The Star Department,
Fela Kuti,
Blancmange,
In Retrospect,
John Cale,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Sun City Girls,
The Moleskins,
Darondo,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Donald Byrd,
Soft Machine,
The Pretty Things,
David McCallum,
The Happenings,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The American Breed,
Main Source,
The Doobie Brothers,
Mark Hollis,
the Germs,
Loose Ends,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Neu!,
The Blues Magoos,
Y Pants,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Offenders,
Bush Tetras,
Idris Muhammad,
Amazonics,
Eden Ahbez,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
David Bowie,
A Certain Ratio,
Amon Düül,
The Misunderstood,
Model 500,
Kayak,
Radiopuhelimet,
Pharoah Sanders,
Cymande,
Lucky Dragons,
Tim Buckley,
Nik Kershaw,
Quando Quango,
Aswad,
X-101,
Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco.
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.