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 Cape Verde and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Pere Ubu to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Moebius. All the underground hits.
All The Buckinghams tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Christie 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Five Americans 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?
Pussy Galore,
Henry Cow,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Divine Comedy,
Mo-Dettes,
Reagan Youth,
John Foxx,
Gang Green,
Neu!,
Bill Near,
The Toasters,
Lalo Schifrin,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Harmonia,
Sonic Youth,
Y Pants,
Donald Byrd,
Crime,
Soul II Soul,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ituana,
The Cramps,
Tres Demented,
Von Mondo,
Silicon Teens,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Symarip,
Maleditus Sound,
Royal Trux,
the Germs,
Fad Gadget,
The Searchers,
Essential Logic,
Camouflage,
Nik Kershaw,
Colin Newman,
Harry Pussy,
Eve St. Jones,
Johnny Osbourne,
Mantronix,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Talk Talk,
Massinfluence,
Sarah Menescal,
Ohio Players,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Johnny Clarke,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Albert Ayler,
Qualms,
The Beau Brummels,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Flesh Eaters,
Barclay James Harvest,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Popol Vuh,
Crooked Eye,
Al Stewart, Al Stewart, Al Stewart, Al Stewart.
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.