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 El Salvador and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 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 The Seeds to the electroclash 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 U.S. Maple. All the underground hits.
All Kerrie Biddell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fugs 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Beau Brummels record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Smoke,
Tropical Tobacco,
Banda Bassotti,
Archie Shepp,
June of 44,
The Motions,
Circle Jerks,
The Gun Club,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Real Kids,
Alphaville,
Carl Craig,
Goldenarms,
The Wake,
Metal Thangz,
Sarah Menescal,
The Red Krayola,
Anthony Braxton,
Bob Dylan,
Warren Ellis,
EPMD,
Rotary Connection,
Bill Wells,
the Bar-Kays,
Joyce Sims,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Nation of Ulysses,
Urselle,
Lee Hazlewood,
Althea and Donna,
Wire,
Whodini,
Roy Ayers,
Sun Ra,
Organ,
Kurtis Blow,
Fugazi,
Moebius,
OOIOO,
The Velvet Underground,
The Mojo Men,
Con Funk Shun,
Marc Almond,
Stetsasonic,
Gang Green,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
U.S. Maple,
Camouflage,
Heaven 17,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Henry Cow,
Los Fastidios,
Marine Girls,
Trumans Water,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Essential Logic,
The Music Machine,
Arab on Radar,
Throbbing Gristle,
Susan Cadogan,
Pagans,
Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May.
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.