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 Fiji and from Taipei.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 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 The Alarm Clocks to the funk 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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All Organ tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Derrick Morgan 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scientists record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eve St. Jones,
Byron Stingily,
the Normal,
Bobby Womack,
PIL,
The Invisible,
Jacob Miller,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Mission of Burma,
The Fortunes,
Rites of Spring,
Marine Girls,
The New Christs,
Lalann,
Moss Icon,
Pussy Galore,
The Zeros,
Theoretical Girls,
Connie Case,
LL Cool J,
The Human League,
Rakim,
Quadrant,
Fat Boys,
Bobby Byrd,
The Residents,
Ossler,
Grey Daturas,
John Foxx,
Ludus,
Kaleidoscope,
Unwound,
Ken Boothe,
The Tremeloes,
Procol Harum,
Vladislav Delay,
Sandy B,
Flipper,
Mark Hollis,
The Black Dice,
The Moody Blues,
The Searchers,
DNA,
Lungfish,
Matthew Bourne,
Y Pants,
The Techniques,
The Gories,
Howard Jones,
K-Klass,
Letta Mbulu,
Main Source,
Ultravox,
Steve Hackett,
Dark Day,
Saccharine Trust,
X-Ray Spex,
Joyce Sims,
The Mummies,
Public Image Ltd.,
Quando Quango,
Marcia Griffiths, Marcia Griffiths, Marcia Griffiths, Marcia Griffiths.
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.