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 Japan and from Glasgow.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Cabaret Voltaire to the disco 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 Desert Stars. All the underground hits.
All Goldenarms tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Martian 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Swell Maps record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Seeds,
The Smiths,
The Buckinghams,
the Bar-Kays,
Bobby Womack,
Hashim,
Pantaleimon,
Gastr Del Sol,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Dark Day,
Jandek,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Y Pants,
Warsaw,
Crash Course in Science,
Rod Modell,
The Five Americans,
Masters at Work,
Silicon Teens,
The Remains,
The Residents,
Outsiders,
Severed Heads,
June of 44,
Bill Near,
The Knickerbockers,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Moody Blues,
The Motions,
the Normal,
Fat Boys,
Harry Pussy,
The Doors,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Dual Sessions,
Can,
FM Einheit,
Neu!,
Procol Harum,
Eurythmics,
Lower 48,
Camouflage,
Ludus,
The Detroit Cobras,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Dead C,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Byron Stingily,
The Neon Judgement,
Curtis Mayfield,
Chrome,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Tommy Roe,
Neil Young,
Slick Rick,
Subhumans,
Tom Boy,
Fela Kuti, Fela Kuti, Fela Kuti, Fela Kuti.
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.