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 Palau and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 Chrome to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Mission of Burma tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every New Age Steppers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wings record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kurtis Blow,
Angry Samoans,
The Residents,
The Grass Roots,
Ken Boothe,
Harry Pussy,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Saccharine Trust,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Warren Ellis,
Lalann,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Real Kids,
Aural Exciters,
Radiohead,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Cheater Slicks,
Flamin' Groovies,
Jandek,
Isaac Hayes,
The Divine Comedy,
Marshall Jefferson,
Patti Smith,
Erykah Badu,
Kenny Larkin,
Lebanon Hanover,
Arthur Verocai,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Flipper,
The Shadows of Knight,
Robert Wyatt,
Yusef Lateef,
Amon Düül II,
Pharoah Sanders,
the Normal,
Lindisfarne,
Los Fastidios,
Camberwell Now,
Joe Smooth,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Vogues,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ronan,
The Raincoats,
Bill Wells,
Mars,
Man Parrish,
Harmonia,
The Dave Clark Five,
Iggy Pop,
Connie Case,
Thee Headcoats,
Judy Mowatt,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Hot Snakes,
Buzzcocks,
Gang Starr,
H. Thieme,
Adolescents,
Public Image Ltd.,
Marvin Gaye,
Cymande, Cymande, Cymande, Cymande.
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.