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 Dominica and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 mellotron 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 Al Stewart to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Peter and Kerry. All the underground hits.
All Vladislav Delay tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Agitation Free record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kango’s Stein Massive 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?
The Alarm Clocks,
Gang Starr,
Juan Atkins,
Dead Boys,
Siglo XX,
Barbara Tucker,
The Vogues,
Man Eating Sloth,
Mad Mike,
Dark Day,
Sexual Harrassment,
Johnny Clarke,
Fat Boys,
Terrestrial Tones,
Junior Murvin,
Icehouse,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Con Funk Shun,
These Immortal Souls,
Jacques Brel,
Dorothy Ashby,
Lakeside,
Technova,
Amazonics,
Kaleidoscope,
Deakin,
Can,
The American Breed,
Zapp,
Motorama,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Amon Düül,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Das Ding,
Camberwell Now,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Anthony Braxton,
K-Klass,
Nik Kershaw,
The Moleskins,
Echospace,
Kerrie Biddell,
Radio Birdman,
Chris & Cosey,
The Angels of Light,
The Toasters,
Roxette,
The Walker Brothers,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Neon Judgement,
T.S.O.L.,
Qualms,
The Happenings,
A Certain Ratio,
Subhumans,
Bauhaus,
Trumans Water,
Rhythm & Sound,
L. Decosne,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Evens,
Todd Terry, Todd Terry, Todd Terry, Todd Terry.
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.