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 Madrid.
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 New York and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 clarinet 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 Flamin' Groovies to the grunge 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 Liaisons Dangereuses. All the underground hits.
All Tom Boy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bootsy's Rubber Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 a theremin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Junior Murvin,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Smoke,
Yellowson,
Roxy Music,
Magma,
The Kinks,
F. McDonald,
Tropical Tobacco,
Barbara Tucker,
John Coltrane,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Nils Olav,
Man Eating Sloth,
Joyce Sims,
Morten Harket,
Blake Baxter,
Alphaville,
Banda Bassotti,
Blossom Toes,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Qualms,
These Immortal Souls,
Ituana,
the Normal,
Marmalade,
The Golliwogs,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
New Age Steppers,
Tres Demented,
The Saints,
Quando Quango,
June of 44,
Crime,
Vainqueur,
Minnie Riperton,
Scientists,
Tom Boy,
Gabor Szabo,
Fluxion,
Rod Modell,
Throbbing Gristle,
Siglo XX,
Trumans Water,
New Order,
Little Man,
Davy DMX,
Robert Hood,
Iggy Pop,
Gichy Dan,
Sällskapet,
Kool Moe Dee,
In Retrospect,
FM Einheit,
The Alarm Clocks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Names,
Delon & Dalcan,
Be Bop Deluxe, Be Bop Deluxe, Be Bop Deluxe, Be Bop Deluxe.
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.