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 Turkey and from Columbus.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Sex Pistols to the electroclash 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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All The Dead C tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deakin 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Neil Young 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?
Cabaret Voltaire,
Bang On A Can,
Piero Umiliani,
The Offenders,
the Slits,
UT,
Kevin Saunderson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Star Department,
Ituana,
Radiopuhelimet,
Joe Finger,
Procol Harum,
Los Fastidios,
Rotary Connection,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Maurizio,
John Foxx,
Yellowson,
Danielle Patucci,
Barrington Levy,
Monks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Hot Snakes,
Joe Smooth,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Divine Comedy,
Visage,
Pharoah Sanders,
Tubeway Army,
Fear,
Alison Limerick,
The Human League,
Mark Hollis,
Adolescents,
Animal Collective,
The Techniques,
David Bowie,
Spandau Ballet,
The Smiths,
The Mummies,
Public Image Ltd.,
Black Sheep,
Barbara Tucker,
Sex Pistols,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Minny Pops,
Malaria!,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Skatalites,
Lungfish,
Wally Richardson,
Neil Young,
The Raincoats,
The Dead C,
Steve Hackett,
Yusef Lateef,
Symarip,
Audionom,
Bush Tetras, Bush Tetras, Bush Tetras, Bush Tetras.
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.