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 Seychelles and from Copenhagen.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Siouxsie and the Banshees to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sixth Finger. All the underground hits.
All Gang of Four tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Rundgren record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Durutti Column record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Circle Jerks,
Monks,
Althea and Donna,
Stockholm Monsters,
Icehouse,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Marmalade,
Johnny Clarke,
DNA,
The J.B.'s,
Jacob Miller,
Barry Ungar,
The Birthday Party,
Smog,
Minny Pops,
Jeff Mills,
New Age Steppers,
The Dirtbombs,
Dave Gahan,
The Monks,
the Swans,
The Electric Prunes,
Rekid,
Camberwell Now,
Brick,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Grass Roots,
The Slackers,
Pussy Galore,
Gong,
Aural Exciters,
Oblivians,
Grey Daturas,
Gerry Rafferty,
Cybotron,
John Foxx,
Scan 7,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Quadrant,
Deadbeat,
Siglo XX,
Slave,
Ronnie Foster,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Sex Pistols,
Letta Mbulu,
Livin' Joy,
A Certain Ratio,
LL Cool J,
Funky Four + One,
New York Dolls,
David McCallum,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Agitation Free,
Spandau Ballet,
Supertramp,
Tears for Fears,
Moss Icon,
The Offenders,
The Skatalites,
Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill.
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.