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 Mauritius and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 synthesizer 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 John Lydon to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Scientists. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & John Cale tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Warsaw 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 a harpsichord and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Smiths,
Rhythm & Sound,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Swell Maps,
Von Mondo,
Tears for Fears,
Model 500,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Tim Buckley,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Supertramp,
Harry Pussy,
Dawn Penn,
Eric Copeland,
Arab on Radar,
Eli Mardock,
Soft Cell,
Qualms,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Bob Dylan,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
48th St. Collective,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Mad Mike,
Junior Murvin,
Jerry's Kids,
EPMD,
Susan Cadogan,
Hardrive,
Underground Resistance,
Bobby Womack,
Barbara Tucker,
New York Dolls,
Monks,
Rapeman,
Black Pus,
D'Angelo,
Davy DMX,
The Red Krayola,
Ken Boothe,
David Bowie,
Yazoo,
Sparks,
Jacob Miller,
The Grass Roots,
Gang Green,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Real Kids,
Amon Düül II,
Flipper,
kango's stein massive,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Remains,
Hot Snakes,
The Evens,
Ohio Players,
Tomorrow,
James White and The Blacks,
The Toasters,
Dorothy Ashby, Dorothy Ashby, Dorothy Ashby, Dorothy Ashby.
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.