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 Cuba and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Mumbai.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Tropical Tobacco to the grunge 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 Country Teasers. All the underground hits.
All Glenn Branca tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every T. Rex 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a ABBA record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
Stetsasonic,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Young Marble Giants,
Dorothy Ashby,
Kenny Larkin,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Eurythmics,
Pharoah Sanders,
Marine Girls,
Black Bananas,
The Angels of Light,
Yellowson,
Connie Case,
Pulsallama,
Pierre Henry,
The Dirtbombs,
Malaria!,
Niagra,
Soft Machine,
The Neon Judgement,
Scientists,
Oneida,
Donny Hathaway,
Magazine,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
AZ,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sex Pistols,
The Kinks,
DNA,
Crispy Ambulance,
Animal Collective,
Bang On A Can,
Babytalk,
Blake Baxter,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Organ,
Sight & Sound,
Max Romeo,
Gang Gang Dance,
Eve St. Jones,
Ralphi Rosario,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Youth Brigade,
Banda Bassotti,
Josef K,
Danielle Patucci,
Jacques Brel,
The Stooges,
The Birthday Party,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Standells,
The Trojans,
Pole,
B.T. Express,
Rites of Spring,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Grey Daturas,
H. Thieme,
Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson.
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.