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 Barbados and from Lagos.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Agitation Free to the electroclash 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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore 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 techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wings record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Clear Light,
Roy Ayers,
Basic Channel,
Hoover,
Porter Ricks,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Gang of Four,
Chrome,
These Immortal Souls,
The Smoke,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
T.S.O.L.,
Barbara Tucker,
Donald Byrd,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
8 Eyed Spy,
Bill Near,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Rod Modell,
Mad Mike,
Andrew Hill,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Walker Brothers,
Gregory Isaacs,
Wally Richardson,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Mandrill,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Seeds,
Newcleus,
Pylon,
The Dead C,
Josef K,
Metal Thangz,
T. Rex,
Crash Course in Science,
Trumans Water,
Ohio Players,
Howard Jones,
Rakim,
Pantytec,
Kayak,
Los Fastidios,
Dead Boys,
The Index,
Dual Sessions,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Mantronix,
Radiohead,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Absolute Body Control,
Fugazi,
Marine Girls,
Gabor Szabo,
Alice Coltrane,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Lakeside,
Letta Mbulu,
Deakin,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Darondo,
Arthur Verocai,
Pagans, Pagans, Pagans, Pagans.
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.