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 Jordan and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Seoul.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Lower 48 to the techno kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Icehouse tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lee Hazlewood record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 synthesizer and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Arab on Radar 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?
The Selecter,
Fela Kuti,
John Coltrane,
Al Stewart,
DJ Sneak,
The Motions,
Harry Pussy,
Black Pus,
Matthew Halsall,
Colin Newman,
Man Parrish,
Howard Jones,
Lucky Dragons,
T.S.O.L.,
Bush Tetras,
Buzzcocks,
Scott Walker,
Schoolly D,
Ponytail,
La Düsseldorf,
Dawn Penn,
The Gladiators,
Sister Nancy,
Big Daddy Kane,
John Holt,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Misunderstood,
Moebius,
Faust,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Martian,
Ralphi Rosario,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Pretty Things,
Los Fastidios,
Marvin Gaye,
The Busters,
Kool Moe Dee,
Pussy Galore,
Avey Tare,
One Last Wish,
Alice Coltrane,
Camouflage,
Funky Four + One,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Black Moon,
The United States of America,
Parry Music,
The Durutti Column,
Sällskapet,
Don Cherry,
Joe Finger,
LL Cool J,
Rakim,
Todd Rundgren,
DJ Style,
Prince Buster,
Laurel Aitken,
Throbbing Gristle,
Peter & Gordon,
Franke,
Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre.
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.