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 Bulgaria and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 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 Marc Almond to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 X-101. All the underground hits.
All Oblivians tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Flag,
The Toasters,
John Lydon,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Sixth Finger,
Slave,
Adolescents,
Dawn Penn,
H. Thieme,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Radiopuhelimet,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Gladiators,
The Leaves,
Junior Murvin,
Kaleidoscope,
Bobby Womack,
The Five Americans,
Boz Scaggs,
Suburban Knight,
Matthew Bourne,
FM Einheit,
The Kinks,
AZ,
David Bowie,
Anakelly,
Tubeway Army,
Parry Music,
The Mojo Men,
The Techniques,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Depeche Mode,
the Normal,
Bobby Byrd,
Joe Finger,
Kas Product,
The Moody Blues,
The Invisible,
Iggy Pop,
Visage,
The Residents,
Absolute Body Control,
The Evens,
The Music Machine,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Ronnie Foster,
The Fortunes,
Mary Jane Girls,
kango's stein massive,
Funkadelic,
Symarip,
Gang of Four,
Erasure,
The Last Poets,
Niagra,
Anthony Braxton,
Mars,
Siglo XX,
Easy Going,
Nico,
Buzzcocks,
Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya.
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.