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 Solomon Islands and from Salvador.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the 808 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 Harpers Bizarre to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Shoche. All the underground hits.
All Nation of Ulysses tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang of Four record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Al Stewart record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Slick Rick,
X-102,
Wasted Youth,
Bill Wells,
Charles Mingus,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Sonics,
Big Daddy Kane,
Tommy Roe,
Spandau Ballet,
Erykah Badu,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Sun City Girls,
Bob Dylan,
Black Pus,
The Star Department,
Gang of Four,
Rites of Spring,
Alison Limerick,
Oblivians,
Connie Case,
Rosa Yemen,
New York Dolls,
Dorothy Ashby,
Matthew Bourne,
The Five Americans,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Make Up,
Scott Walker,
Massinfluence,
Nas,
The Pop Group,
The Buckinghams,
Slave,
The Gap Band,
The Monks,
X-101,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Pulsallama,
The Alarm Clocks,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Q65,
Johnny Osbourne,
the Fania All-Stars,
X-Ray Spex,
Jandek,
David McCallum,
The Misunderstood,
Don Cherry,
Hot Snakes,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Doors,
Eurythmics,
Soulsonic Force,
Surgeon,
Adolescents,
Jerry's Kids,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Girls At Our Best!,
Can,
Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke.
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.