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 Mauritania and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Terror Squad Feat. Camron to the grime kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Fania All-Stars. All the underground hits.
All Jesper Dahlbäck tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alton Ellis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Beasts of Bourbon,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Moebius,
Quantec,
Wally Richardson,
Ludus,
Marvin Gaye,
Sparks,
Buzzcocks,
Bobby Byrd,
Yaz,
Sixth Finger,
Reuben Wilson,
Mark Hollis,
Bluetip,
Johnny Osbourne,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Y Pants,
Don Cherry,
Carl Craig,
Nation of Ulysses,
Eli Mardock,
John Foxx,
Joey Negro,
Hasil Adkins,
The Blues Magoos,
Pere Ubu,
Niagra,
Bob Dylan,
The Stooges,
Skarface,
Monolake,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Grass Roots,
The Residents,
Scientists,
Marshall Jefferson,
Hot Snakes,
Scion,
Excepter,
Los Fastidios,
Swell Maps,
David Bowie,
Suburban Knight,
Tommy Roe,
Maurizio,
Subhumans,
Talk Talk,
Au Pairs,
Bang On A Can,
Byron Stingily,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Velvet Underground,
The Evens,
Siglo XX,
Kool Moe Dee,
Nils Olav,
E-Dancer,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Standells,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Todd Terry,
Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux.
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.