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 Azerbaijan and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 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 Urselle to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Lonnie Liston Smith. All the underground hits.
All Ronan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terror Squad Feat. Camron record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Albert Ayler,
Dave Gahan,
the Normal,
the Bar-Kays,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Henry Cow,
Eric B and Rakim,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Sixth Finger,
Bobby Byrd,
Jacques Brel,
Scratch Acid,
Peter and Kerry,
Judy Mowatt,
L. Decosne,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Can,
The Smoke,
Buzzcocks,
Wolf Eyes,
Ossler,
Vainqueur,
Rod Modell,
The Smiths,
June of 44,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Real Kids,
Scott Walker,
The Toasters,
Sällskapet,
Aural Exciters,
The Electric Prunes,
Blancmange,
Babytalk,
Section 25,
The Doobie Brothers,
Spandau Ballet,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Stereo Dub,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Archie Shepp,
Mr. Review,
Unrelated Segments,
LL Cool J,
Freddie Wadling,
The Count Five,
Sun Ra,
Theoretical Girls,
Royal Trux,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Heaven 17,
Eric Copeland,
Toni Rubio,
Youth Brigade,
Soulsonic Force,
Masters at Work,
Don Cherry,
David Axelrod,
Angry Samoans,
X-Ray Spex,
World's Most,
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.