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 Ukraine and from Lille.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Crispian St. Peters to the funk 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 Piero Umiliani. All the underground hits.
All Minor Threat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Holt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Pop Group,
Jacques Brel,
Pussy Galore,
Siglo XX,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Modern Lovers,
Con Funk Shun,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Susan Cadogan,
The Dave Clark Five,
Rapeman,
Drive Like Jehu,
PIL,
Rakim,
Bob Dylan,
The Mummies,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Aswad,
The Trojans,
The Victims,
Delon & Dalcan,
AZ,
Donny Hathaway,
John Lydon,
Motorama,
Deadbeat,
Don Cherry,
Infiniti,
Harry Pussy,
Thee Headcoats,
Pantytec,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Lower 48,
The Sonics,
Lee Hazlewood,
Byron Stingily,
Black Sheep,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Fad Gadget,
Y Pants,
a-ha,
Liliput,
Animal Collective,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
X-102,
Matthew Halsall,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Marc Almond,
F. McDonald,
Barrington Levy,
Big Daddy Kane,
Radiohead,
A Certain Ratio,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Monochrome Set,
The Searchers,
Chrome,
Quantec,
Bobby Womack,
The Gun Club, The Gun Club, The Gun Club, The Gun Club.
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.