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 Bulgaria and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Lagos.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All The Pop Group tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every John Holt record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Heaven 17 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
June of 44,
Little Man,
Skriet,
Roxy Music,
Amon Düül,
Urselle,
The Alarm Clocks,
Barbara Tucker,
Jesper Dahlback,
Bob Dylan,
Neu!,
Rapeman,
Blossom Toes,
Sällskapet,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Quadrant,
Sarah Menescal,
The Wake,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Vogues,
Yaz,
the Normal,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Marine Girls,
The Star Department,
Thompson Twins,
Lebanon Hanover,
Ralphi Rosario,
Chris & Cosey,
The Cowsills,
The Dead C,
Black Moon,
Glambeats Corp.,
Tommy Roe,
Skaos,
DJ Style,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Fluxion,
The J.B.'s,
Bush Tetras,
James White and The Blacks,
Frankie Knuckles,
Donald Byrd,
Country Joe & The Fish,
X-101,
Danielle Patucci,
a-ha,
Nas,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Ornette Coleman,
Ultravox,
JFA,
The Music Machine,
Don Cherry,
Popol Vuh,
Grey Daturas,
Pantaleimon,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Doobie Brothers,
Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp.
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.