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 Slovakia and from Manila.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Terrestrial Tones to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Chocolate Watch Band. All the underground hits.
All Scott Walker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Intrusion record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Camouflage record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stetsasonic,
The Vogues,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Index,
Neu!,
David McCallum,
Qualms,
Pharoah Sanders,
Ken Boothe,
The Names,
Pantaleimon,
The Mummies,
The New Christs,
The Techniques,
Suicide,
Barbara Tucker,
Ultimate Spinach,
Yazoo,
Severed Heads,
Icehouse,
Arcadia,
Wally Richardson,
Thompson Twins,
Scion,
The Skatalites,
The Sound,
Fela Kuti,
Rites of Spring,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Tears for Fears,
Gerry Rafferty,
Curtis Mayfield,
Magma,
The Raincoats,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Real Kids,
Black Bananas,
John Foxx,
KRS-One,
Rosa Yemen,
Deadbeat,
Brothers Johnson,
The Evens,
The American Breed,
Lungfish,
John Lydon,
Cheater Slicks,
Mandrill,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
the Slits,
The Associates,
Dark Day,
MDC,
Organ,
The Birthday Party,
Slave,
Tommy Roe,
Adolescents,
Young Marble Giants,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Rhythm & Sound, Rhythm & Sound, Rhythm & Sound, Rhythm & Sound.
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.