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 Iraq and from Bologna.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 The Alarm Clocks to the techno 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 Urselle. All the underground hits.
All The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Young Rascals 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bootsy's Rubber Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Juan Atkins,
Connie Case,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Skarface,
the Slits,
Bootsy Collins,
Matthew Halsall,
the Bar-Kays,
Lungfish,
Sex Pistols,
Pylon,
Idris Muhammad,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Cymande,
Sexual Harrassment,
Jandek,
Ituana,
The Star Department,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Ronan,
Girls At Our Best!,
Metal Thangz,
Massinfluence,
One Last Wish,
Bronski Beat,
Tommy Roe,
Symarip,
New York Dolls,
Vainqueur,
a-ha,
Camouflage,
The Dirtbombs,
Severed Heads,
Gang of Four,
Peter and Kerry,
June of 44,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The American Breed,
The Black Dice,
Jeff Mills,
Unrelated Segments,
Icehouse,
The Divine Comedy,
John Coltrane,
Sandy B,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Cheater Slicks,
Slick Rick,
Crispy Ambulance,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Adolescents,
Technova,
Nils Olav,
Jacob Miller,
F. McDonald,
Scan 7,
Byron Stingily,
Crime,
E-Dancer,
U.S. Maple,
Kenny Larkin,
DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak.
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.