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 Andorra and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 Donny Hathaway to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Susan Cadogan. All the underground hits.
All Hardrive tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Notorious Big And Bone Thugs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Associates record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Goldenarms,
the Germs,
Wasted Youth,
Blancmange,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Bronski Beat,
Dead Boys,
Marine Girls,
Lindisfarne,
The Blackbyrds,
Mr. Review,
The Searchers,
Smog,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Beau Brummels,
Con Funk Shun,
Stereo Dub,
Toni Rubio,
Nas,
Sparks,
ABBA,
John Coltrane,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Pulsallama,
Rotary Connection,
Pole,
Neil Young,
Television Personalities,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Move,
Scrapy,
Harry Pussy,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
the Normal,
Deadbeat,
kango's stein massive,
Big Daddy Kane,
Joensuu 1685,
Altered Images,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Vainqueur,
Susan Cadogan,
The Doors,
Dave Gahan,
Pet Shop Boys,
Henry Cow,
The Litter,
Pere Ubu,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The New Christs,
48th St. Collective,
Gang of Four,
Agent Orange,
Deepchord,
Ralphi Rosario,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Lightning Bolt,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Spandau Ballet,
Gil Scott Heron,
Skarface,
Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls, Sun City Girls.
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.