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 Africa and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 sitar 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 Minnie Riperton to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson. All the underground hits.
All Sugar Minott tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Smoke 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Little Man record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
New Order,
the Soft Cell,
the Sonics,
The Evens,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Red Krayola,
Anakelly,
Chris Corsano,
Hoover,
The Residents,
T. Rex,
Arab on Radar,
Jerry's Kids,
Spandau Ballet,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Doors,
Harmonia,
Cal Tjader,
Black Bananas,
Ultra Naté,
Johnny Clarke,
Crime,
Bill Wells,
The Count Five,
Roger Hodgson,
The Techniques,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Rites of Spring,
The Flesh Eaters,
Minor Threat,
The Durutti Column,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Quantec,
Pantaleimon,
Wire,
New York Dolls,
Mark Hollis,
Suicide,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Motions,
Angry Samoans,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Bluetip,
CMW,
Radiohead,
The Remains,
A Certain Ratio,
Tommy Roe,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Gun Club,
Skarface,
Ituana,
Man Parrish,
Don Cherry,
Amon Düül II,
Kaleidoscope,
Desert Stars,
Josef K,
Alphaville,
Rekid,
Thompson Twins, Thompson Twins, Thompson Twins, Thompson Twins.
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.