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 Cairo.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the marimba 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 Byron Stingily to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Blossom Toes. All the underground hits.
All Alphaville tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fifty Foot Hose record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 linndrum and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 8 Eyed Spy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sparks,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Television,
Barbara Tucker,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ralphi Rosario,
Joe Smooth,
Flamin' Groovies,
Niagra,
LL Cool J,
Charles Mingus,
Sister Nancy,
The Flesh Eaters,
Robert Hood,
Man Parrish,
The Tremeloes,
the Human League,
Royal Trux,
Tomorrow,
Y Pants,
the Sonics,
Schoolly D,
The Moleskins,
Bronski Beat,
John Holt,
Minnie Riperton,
Eric Copeland,
Don Cherry,
Delon & Dalcan,
Nik Kershaw,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Golliwogs,
K-Klass,
These Immortal Souls,
Jacques Brel,
T. Rex,
MDC,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Sex Pistols,
X-Ray Spex,
Ultimate Spinach,
Junior Murvin,
Drive Like Jehu,
Youth Brigade,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Derrick May,
Livin' Joy,
Hot Snakes,
Jawbox,
Traffic Nightmare,
48th St. Collective,
Eric Dolphy,
Althea and Donna,
The Trojans,
David McCallum,
Goldenarms,
The Saints,
The Gap Band,
Heaven 17,
10cc,
Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia.
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.