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 South Sudan and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Houston.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 These Immortal Souls to the techno 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 Inner City. All the underground hits.
All Black Moon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Masters at Work record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Fania All-Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Aloha Tigers,
The Red Krayola,
Wings,
The Selecter,
Eric Dolphy,
Derrick Morgan,
A Flock of Seagulls,
DJ Sneak,
Crispian St. Peters,
Bobby Byrd,
Jeff Mills,
Banda Bassotti,
Radiohead,
Hot Snakes,
Dave Gahan,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ossler,
Tim Buckley,
the Swans,
Andrew Hill,
Das Ding,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Maurizio,
Ice-T,
Model 500,
Masters at Work,
Delta 5,
The Velvet Underground,
Robert Görl,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Mojo Men,
Barry Ungar,
Barrington Levy,
Connie Case,
Fugazi,
Drive Like Jehu,
Mr. Review,
The Beau Brummels,
Animal Collective,
Sällskapet,
Mary Jane Girls,
Pussy Galore,
Matthew Bourne,
Guru Guru,
Boogie Down Productions,
Michelle Simonal,
Sexual Harrassment,
Ludus,
Mission of Burma,
Accadde A,
Pylon,
Bootsy Collins,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
New Age Steppers,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Stereo Dub,
Hoover,
The Young Rascals,
Bobby Womack,
Kenny Larkin,
Thee Headcoats,
The Cosmic Jokers, The Cosmic Jokers, The Cosmic Jokers, The Cosmic Jokers.
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.