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 Solomon Islands and from Tehran.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Lakeside to the techno 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 Freddie Wadling. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Heaven 17 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Banda Bassotti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roxette,
Joyce Sims,
The Gories,
Massinfluence,
Barbara Tucker,
Stockholm Monsters,
ABC,
Pharoah Sanders,
Supertramp,
Jimmy McGriff,
Sun City Girls,
Masters at Work,
Gang of Four,
Sight & Sound,
DNA,
June Days,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Subhumans,
Ultravox,
John Cale,
Newcleus,
Wally Richardson,
The Fortunes,
Gil Scott Heron,
June of 44,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Ohio Players,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Motions,
Harry Pussy,
Das Ding,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Kurtis Blow,
Marcia Griffiths,
Nation of Ulysses,
Faraquet,
Blossom Toes,
Eden Ahbez,
Surgeon,
The Kinks,
The Mojo Men,
Junior Murvin,
Cameo,
Radio Birdman,
Youth Brigade,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sonny Sharrock,
Man Parrish,
Donny Hathaway,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Electric Prunes,
X-102,
Henry Cow,
Suburban Knight,
Simply Red,
Tom Boy,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Spandau Ballet,
This Heat,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Modern Lovers,
Fad Gadget,
Scott Walker,
The Sonics, The Sonics, The Sonics, The Sonics.
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.