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 Guinea-Bissau and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Crispian St. Peters to the punk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 The Sisters of Mercy. All the underground hits.
All Yaz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Names record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DJ Sneak record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T.S.O.L.,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
T. Rex,
The Misunderstood,
Pussy Galore,
Dennis Brown,
Eve St. Jones,
The Electric Prunes,
Glenn Branca,
Janne Schatter,
Au Pairs,
Lower 48,
Joyce Sims,
Hardrive,
John Lydon,
Ohio Players,
The Buckinghams,
Eden Ahbez,
The Golliwogs,
Cheater Slicks,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Godley & Creme,
Barclay James Harvest,
Funky Four + One,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Mandrill,
Robert Görl,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Fugazi,
Nils Olav,
Glambeats Corp.,
Ken Boothe,
Vladislav Delay,
Los Fastidios,
Skriet,
Minutemen,
The Black Dice,
Skaos,
Moebius,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Litter,
Arcadia,
The Fuzztones,
Masters at Work,
Alphaville,
Mary Jane Girls,
H. Thieme,
Fat Boys,
Lou Christie,
Harpers Bizarre,
Agent Orange,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Minny Pops,
The Motions,
Bronski Beat,
Ralphi Rosario,
Prince Buster,
Rakim,
Motorama, Motorama, Motorama, Motorama.
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.