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 Somalia and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Toronto.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Lonnie Liston Smith to the funk 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 Agent Orange. All the underground hits.
All Justin Hinds & The Dominoes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every a-ha record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scientists record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Flipper,
Lou Reed,
Sparks,
Mandrill,
Harry Pussy,
Theoretical Girls,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Metal Thangz,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Freddie Wadling,
the Fania All-Stars,
Duran Duran,
Pussy Galore,
The Sound,
The Young Rascals,
Bobby Womack,
Josef K,
Masters at Work,
Pole,
the Bar-Kays,
Crooked Eye,
Public Enemy,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Eddi Front,
Liliput,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Infiniti,
Aaron Thompson,
Minnie Riperton,
Carl Craig,
David McCallum,
MC5,
Man Parrish,
The Trojans,
Magma,
Jandek,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Max Romeo,
Ossler,
Hashim,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Mummies,
Crime,
Television,
Saccharine Trust,
ABC,
Jeff Mills,
Glambeats Corp.,
Tim Buckley,
John Cale,
Sex Pistols,
Amazonics,
Black Pus,
Bill Near,
The Divine Comedy,
The Sonics,
Jimmy McGriff,
Pierre Henry,
Niagra,
Ituana,
The Detroit Cobras, The Detroit Cobras, The Detroit Cobras, The Detroit Cobras.
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.