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 Brazil and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 John Holt to the grunge 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 Erykah Badu. All the underground hits.
All Sly & The Family Stone tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Saints record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Martian record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Misunderstood,
Mark Hollis,
Mr. Review,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Schoolly D,
Fat Boys,
Andrew Hill,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Blake Baxter,
the Normal,
Symarip,
Niagra,
The Sound,
Dorothy Ashby,
Soft Cell,
Subhumans,
The Invisible,
John Holt,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
E-Dancer,
Ornette Coleman,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Joensuu 1685,
Khruangbin,
Amon Düül,
The Busters,
The Motions,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Visage,
The Pretty Things,
Surgeon,
Mandrill,
the Bar-Kays,
cv313,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Gap Band,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Sugar Minott,
Zapp,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Aural Exciters,
The Dirtbombs,
Simply Red,
The Smoke,
Porter Ricks,
Bob Dylan,
Nik Kershaw,
Tommy Roe,
The Cowsills,
Kool Moe Dee,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Sixth Finger,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Soft Machine,
Curtis Mayfield,
Mantronix,
ABC,
Donny Hathaway,
Chrome, Chrome, Chrome, Chrome.
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.