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 Denmark and from Stockholm.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the marimba 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 Brothers Johnson to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Todd Terry. All the underground hits.
All Ralphi Rosario tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every E-Dancer record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Byron Stingily record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Sam Rivers,
The Five Americans,
Harpers Bizarre,
Sällskapet,
Blake Baxter,
Echospace,
John Foxx,
MDC,
Letta Mbulu,
Monolake,
KRS-One,
Stereo Dub,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Harmonia,
Byron Stingily,
Anakelly,
Radiohead,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Black Pus,
Fatback Band,
Morten Harket,
Brass Construction,
The Gun Club,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Sixth Finger,
8 Eyed Spy,
Nils Olav,
Harry Pussy,
Glenn Branca,
Bronski Beat,
The Blues Magoos,
Basic Channel,
Sandy B,
Neu!,
Pussy Galore,
Rakim,
Blancmange,
The Durutti Column,
T.S.O.L.,
Can,
Trumans Water,
Bluetip,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Avey Tare,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Ultimate Spinach,
These Immortal Souls,
Duran Duran,
Simply Red,
The Count Five,
Cecil Taylor,
Joy Division,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Youth Brigade,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Joensuu 1685,
the Association,
Swell Maps,
FM Einheit,
New York Dolls,
F. McDonald,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band.
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.