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 Zambia and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in 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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Marc Almond to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Kurtis Blow. All the underground hits.
All Pet Shop Boys 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 disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Knickerbockers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Siglo XX,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Real Kids,
Judy Mowatt,
Q and Not U,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Yaz,
B.T. Express,
The Misunderstood,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Marc Almond,
World's Most,
H. Thieme,
Heaven 17,
Zapp,
Soft Cell,
The Smiths,
Minnie Riperton,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Darondo,
The Mummies,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
F. McDonald,
James White and The Blacks,
Drexciya,
Moss Icon,
Faraquet,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Lebanon Hanover,
T.S.O.L.,
Livin' Joy,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Tremeloes,
Ronan,
Terry Callier,
The Blackbyrds,
Lee Hazlewood,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Television Personalities,
The Cowsills,
Babytalk,
Terrestrial Tones,
Aswad,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Happenings,
Stiv Bators,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Pulsallama,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Byron Stingily,
Scan 7,
The New Christs,
Sarah Menescal,
Matthew Bourne,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Motions,
Eli Mardock,
Susan Cadogan,
Marmalade,
The Kinks,
Little Man, Little Man, Little Man, Little Man.
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.