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 Afghanistan and from Paris.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Paris.
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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Bobby Sherman to the funk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All Fat Boys tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Y Pants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a CMW record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
The American Breed,
Harry Pussy,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Last Poets,
Ludus,
The Flesh Eaters,
New Age Steppers,
Fear,
Gichy Dan,
Second Layer,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pulsallama,
The Gladiators,
Laurel Aitken,
Electric Prunes,
Gabor Szabo,
Dark Day,
The Sonics,
Crash Course in Science,
The Index,
Scion,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Country Teasers,
Roger Hodgson,
Tommy Roe,
Dennis Brown,
Nick Fraelich,
Tomorrow,
Nico,
Cameo,
Fela Kuti,
The Busters,
Malaria!,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Neu!,
The Move,
Magma,
a-ha,
Bizarre Inc.,
Barrington Levy,
Mo-Dettes,
Stockholm Monsters,
A Certain Ratio,
The Tremeloes,
Morten Harket,
Newcleus,
The Blackbyrds,
Johnny Clarke,
FM Einheit,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Grandmaster Flash,
Kayak,
Schoolly D,
In Retrospect,
Pere Ubu,
Half Japanese,
Loose Ends,
8 Eyed Spy,
Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope.
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.