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 Jordan and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 clarinet 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 Trojans to the electroclash 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 Barbara Tucker. All the underground hits.
All The Fugs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barbara Tucker record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Smog,
The Tremeloes,
Gong,
The Selecter,
Das Ding,
Jeff Lynne,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Gang Starr,
Bill Wells,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Hoover,
Ten City,
Clear Light,
Scrapy,
Eli Mardock,
The Moody Blues,
Donny Hathaway,
The Fuzztones,
Crash Course in Science,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Franke,
Flash Fearless,
June of 44,
Desert Stars,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
U.S. Maple,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Max Romeo,
Erykah Badu,
Hashim,
Agent Orange,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Public Image Ltd.,
Heaven 17,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Harry Pussy,
Eric B and Rakim,
Banda Bassotti,
Blake Baxter,
The Electric Prunes,
Kerri Chandler,
Urselle,
Tres Demented,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Stooges,
Minny Pops,
The Last Poets,
Black Bananas,
AZ,
Radiohead,
Jimmy McGriff,
Lebanon Hanover,
Derrick Morgan,
Robert Hood,
The J.B.'s,
Depeche Mode,
Deakin,
Rites of Spring,
The Golliwogs,
Bobby Byrd,
The New Christs, The New Christs, The New Christs, The New Christs.
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.