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 Denmark and from Copenhagen.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Brand Nubian to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Can. All the underground hits.
All the Bar-Kays tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Amazonics 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Metal Thangz,
Deakin,
Sexual Harrassment,
Crispian St. Peters,
Radiohead,
the Swans,
Bobby Womack,
Monks,
DJ Sneak,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Grass Roots,
Little Man,
Darondo,
The Real Kids,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Schoolly D,
Public Image Ltd.,
Deadbeat,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Minutemen,
the Germs,
Gang of Four,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Seeds,
The Moleskins,
Gabor Szabo,
Quadrant,
Faraquet,
Nas,
Rites of Spring,
Drive Like Jehu,
Mo-Dettes,
Swell Maps,
Jandek,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Joey Negro,
Sun Ra,
Ronan,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Au Pairs,
The Blues Magoos,
Bob Dylan,
Adolescents,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Isaac Hayes,
Tim Buckley,
Skarface,
Derrick May,
June of 44,
Black Pus,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Selecter,
The Gories,
Minnie Riperton,
The Modern Lovers,
Pantaleimon,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Offenders,
Supertramp,
Grey Daturas,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ornette Coleman,
Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt.
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.