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 Djibouti and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 Robert Palmer 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 Althea and Donna to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Tres Demented. All the underground hits.
All Icehouse tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Talk Talk record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wire,
Q and Not U,
Joy Division,
Zapp,
Gang Starr,
Davy DMX,
Nas,
Urselle,
The Golliwogs,
Jerry's Kids,
Ornette Coleman,
cv313,
The Standells,
Robert Hood,
Grauzone,
The Detroit Cobras,
Joensuu 1685,
Scott Walker,
X-102,
48th St. Collective,
Scratch Acid,
John Coltrane,
Stereo Dub,
Fad Gadget,
Lakeside,
Mandrill,
Nico,
Matthew Bourne,
Visage,
Barrington Levy,
The Black Dice,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Average White Band,
Danielle Patucci,
The Smiths,
Lou Christie,
Ohio Players,
Kaleidoscope,
Lightning Bolt,
the Bar-Kays,
The Raincoats,
Underground Resistance,
Aaron Thompson,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Pretty Things,
Lungfish,
Delon & Dalcan,
Country Joe & The Fish,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Infiniti,
Crispian St. Peters,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Junior Murvin,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Public Enemy,
Cameo,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Soft Machine,
Moby Grape,
Matthew Halsall,
The Barracudas,
The Searchers, The Searchers, The Searchers, The Searchers.
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.