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 Bhutan and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Boz Scaggs to the disco 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All Bobbi Humphrey tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tres Demented 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lee Hazlewood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Parry Music,
Sarah Menescal,
Carl Craig,
Rekid,
Bush Tetras,
Mr. Review,
James White and The Blacks,
The J.B.'s,
Popol Vuh,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Slave,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Crime,
The Victims,
Lalann,
Mars,
The Slits,
Amon Düül II,
Susan Cadogan,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Doors,
Spandau Ballet,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Music Machine,
Brick,
Joensuu 1685,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Fela Kuti,
Trumans Water,
Eli Mardock,
F. McDonald,
The Martian,
Chris Corsano,
The Alarm Clocks,
Lower 48,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Black Moon,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Subhumans,
Sun City Girls,
X-Ray Spex,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Peter and Kerry,
Grey Daturas,
The Monks,
Cameo,
Aaron Thompson,
Jeff Mills,
John Cale,
Gang Gang Dance,
Prince Buster,
Lee Hazlewood,
Flamin' Groovies,
Fear,
Dennis Brown,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Maurizio,
Khruangbin,
Loose Ends,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Saints,
The New Christs, The New Christs, The New Christs, The New Christs.
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.