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 Belgium and from Salvador.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Hong Kong.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Fela Kuti to the grunge 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Donny Hathaway tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every OOIOO record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Black Dice record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Gang Starr,
Monks,
The Names,
Freddie Wadling,
Sexual Harrassment,
Wally Richardson,
The Barracudas,
the Germs,
Q and Not U,
Quadrant,
Franke,
OOIOO,
Jacob Miller,
Black Pus,
Swell Maps,
Unrelated Segments,
Terrestrial Tones,
Infiniti,
The Cure,
Dark Day,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Rites of Spring,
Spoonie Gee,
Jimmy McGriff,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Shuggie Otis,
Faust,
The Five Americans,
Bob Dylan,
The Motions,
Don Cherry,
The Remains,
Donny Hathaway,
Soft Machine,
Neil Young,
Amazonics,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Ultravox,
Gastr Del Sol,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Swans,
Roxy Music,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Offenders,
Tubeway Army,
Warsaw,
The Buckinghams,
the Bar-Kays,
Organ,
Man Parrish,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Derrick May,
Gang Green,
Mad Mike,
The Smiths,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Shadows of Knight,
Prince Buster,
The Durutti Column,
Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron.
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.