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 United States and from Madrid.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Chris Corsano to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bill Near tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Steve Hackett record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bad Manners record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Altered Images,
The Cowsills,
Suicide,
The Count Five,
H. Thieme,
Porter Ricks,
Eve St. Jones,
Rakim,
Dorothy Ashby,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Absolute Body Control,
Warsaw,
Robert Wyatt,
Jacob Miller,
Angry Samoans,
Sarah Menescal,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Bobby Womack,
John Coltrane,
Marine Girls,
Tubeway Army,
Johnny Osbourne,
Joey Negro,
Graham Central Station,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Kinks,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
K-Klass,
Neil Young,
Ultravox,
Roy Ayers,
Grauzone,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Gun Club,
Roxette,
Buzzcocks,
Aaron Thompson,
Piero Umiliani,
Ultimate Spinach,
Roxy Music,
OOIOO,
Gang Starr,
the Fania All-Stars,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Schoolly D,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Blues Magoos,
Outsiders,
Interpol,
Bronski Beat,
The Detroit Cobras,
Severed Heads,
the Germs,
The Human League,
The Happenings,
Can,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Skaos,
Marvin Gaye,
Lalann,
Pagans, Pagans, Pagans, Pagans.
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.