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 Sierra Leone and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 synthesizer 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 Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson to the rap 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 Lalo Schifrin. All the underground hits.
All Das Ding tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Basic Channel 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Busters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Smiths,
The Techniques,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Barbara Tucker,
The Golliwogs,
Joy Division,
Drexciya,
The Gun Club,
Glenn Branca,
Radiopuhelimet,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Icehouse,
The Invisible,
Connie Case,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Detroit Cobras,
Moebius,
Nation of Ulysses,
Zero Boys,
Pagans,
Country Teasers,
Joyce Sims,
DJ Style,
These Immortal Souls,
Dorothy Ashby,
Unwound,
Rites of Spring,
Cal Tjader,
Patti Smith,
Average White Band,
The Moody Blues,
Erasure,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Nico,
Shoche,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Harry Pussy,
Sam Rivers,
Nils Olav,
Throbbing Gristle,
Shuggie Otis,
Erykah Badu,
Television,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Big Daddy Kane,
Qualms,
Popol Vuh,
Letta Mbulu,
Lou Christie,
Lucky Dragons,
Sparks,
Magazine,
Isaac Hayes,
the Fania All-Stars,
the Soft Cell,
The Fire Engines,
Bizarre Inc.,
Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe.
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.