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 Egypt and from Spokane.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Johnny Clarke to the disco kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Matthew Bourne. All the underground hits.
All Pere Ubu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wally Richardson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Robert Wyatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Motions,
Franke,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Vogues,
The Buckinghams,
Livin' Joy,
B.T. Express,
Accadde A,
Lightning Bolt,
the Bar-Kays,
Radio Birdman,
Lindisfarne,
The Angels of Light,
Can,
Basic Channel,
Mad Mike,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Moody Blues,
The Offenders,
Y Pants,
Boogie Down Productions,
the Fania All-Stars,
Joensuu 1685,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Scientists,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Suburban Knight,
Unwound,
Ronnie Foster,
Todd Terry,
Alton Ellis,
Gang of Four,
Fugazi,
The Knickerbockers,
June of 44,
Moss Icon,
Bill Wells,
Eric Copeland,
LL Cool J,
K-Klass,
the Association,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Happenings,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Ultimate Spinach,
Bizarre Inc.,
Marine Girls,
The Searchers,
Cybotron,
Ituana,
World's Most,
Man Parrish,
The Sonics,
Wally Richardson,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Cheater Slicks,
The Neon Judgement,
The Music Machine,
Dorothy Ashby,
Kaleidoscope,
Porter Ricks,
Clear Light, Clear Light, Clear Light, Clear Light.
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.