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 Samoa and from Portland.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Ultimate Spinach to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Matthew Bourne. All the underground hits.
All Mantronix tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grauzone 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Los Fastidios record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Suburban Knight,
Tubeway Army,
Amazonics,
Public Enemy,
Pharoah Sanders,
Kerri Chandler,
Arthur Verocai,
Donny Hathaway,
Bill Wells,
Unrelated Segments,
Y Pants,
Traffic Nightmare,
June of 44,
Duran Duran,
The Vogues,
Max Romeo,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
the Germs,
Minor Threat,
Bob Dylan,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Kool Moe Dee,
D'Angelo,
Thee Headcoats,
Severed Heads,
Peter and Kerry,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Hashim,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Marvin Gaye,
Eli Mardock,
MC5,
The Alarm Clocks,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Ice-T,
The Victims,
Los Fastidios,
Heaven 17,
Godley & Creme,
Neu!,
H. Thieme,
Anakelly,
Soft Cell,
Absolute Body Control,
The Litter,
Inner City,
The Cowsills,
Bobby Byrd,
Franke,
The Doors,
the Soft Cell,
DNA,
The American Breed,
Easy Going,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Tim Buckley,
Jimmy McGriff,
Tom Boy,
Deepchord,
Chrome,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters.
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.