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 Tajikistan and from Mumbai.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the marimba 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 The Dead C to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Saints. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Strawberry Alarm Clock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Prince Buster record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Intrusion,
Morten Harket,
Livin' Joy,
Inner City,
John Holt,
Marine Girls,
L. Decosne,
The Fortunes,
The Velvet Underground,
MDC,
Eurythmics,
Minny Pops,
Yellowson,
Aural Exciters,
Arcadia,
Angry Samoans,
DNA,
Jerry's Kids,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Q65,
Man Parrish,
the Soft Cell,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Bobby Womack,
Marcia Griffiths,
Kerri Chandler,
Darondo,
Tomorrow,
Kenny Larkin,
Mary Jane Girls,
Joy Division,
New Age Steppers,
Animal Collective,
Hasil Adkins,
Sugar Minott,
Scion,
New Order,
Jawbox,
Kurtis Blow,
Bush Tetras,
The Five Americans,
The Techniques,
Hashim,
Bauhaus,
48th St. Collective,
Archie Shepp,
Max Romeo,
ABBA,
Saccharine Trust,
Danielle Patucci,
Wire,
Liliput,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Blues Magoos,
The Sound,
Eric Dolphy,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Gang Starr,
Delon & Dalcan,
U.S. Maple,
Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield.
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.