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 Niger and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Lyon.
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 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 David Axelrod to the punk 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 Outsiders. All the underground hits.
All The Invisible tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eric B and Rakim 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a A Flock of Seagulls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eden Ahbez,
Model 500,
Prince Buster,
Siglo XX,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Bobby Sherman,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Wally Richardson,
The Vogues,
The Doors,
Eric Copeland,
Deadbeat,
Aural Exciters,
Lee Hazlewood,
Moss Icon,
Juan Atkins,
Can,
Gregory Isaacs,
Rites of Spring,
Aloha Tigers,
Gang of Four,
Kool Moe Dee,
Silicon Teens,
X-Ray Spex,
June of 44,
Saccharine Trust,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Wasted Youth,
Hot Snakes,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Minutemen,
Cybotron,
Arcadia,
Eric B and Rakim,
Y Pants,
Pantytec,
The Doobie Brothers,
Hoover,
Subhumans,
Peter and Kerry,
Section 25,
Kenny Larkin,
Avey Tare,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Offenders,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Boredoms,
Crispian St. Peters,
Public Image Ltd.,
Fugazi,
Buzzcocks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Patti Smith,
Eric Dolphy,
The Flesh Eaters,
Carl Craig,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Fire Engines,
Unwound, Unwound, Unwound, Unwound.
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.