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 Nepal and from Bremen.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 spring reverb 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 Cowsills to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Eve St. Jones. All the underground hits.
All Masters at Work tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sugar Minott record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Whodini,
Aloha Tigers,
Scrapy,
Jacques Brel,
The Busters,
Black Moon,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Gang Starr,
Quantec,
The Litter,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Pretty Things,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Sonics,
The Dead C,
Steve Hackett,
Arcadia,
Little Man,
Half Japanese,
Soft Cell,
Jawbox,
Amon Düül,
The Smoke,
Black Bananas,
PIL,
Sister Nancy,
The Golliwogs,
The Gladiators,
Spandau Ballet,
Kerri Chandler,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Judy Mowatt,
Ice-T,
Sonny Sharrock,
Audionom,
Crispian St. Peters,
Howard Jones,
Cameo,
The Flesh Eaters,
Neu!,
Todd Rundgren,
Matthew Bourne,
David McCallum,
Maurizio,
Pole,
Erasure,
The Techniques,
Quando Quango,
Dorothy Ashby,
Pulsallama,
Lyres,
Mars,
Outsiders,
Harry Pussy,
Scratch Acid,
Nick Fraelich,
June of 44,
Excepter,
Oneida,
the Germs,
Kerrie Biddell,
Alison Limerick,
Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic, Stetsasonic.
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.