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 Zambia and from Winnipeg.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Suburban Knight to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All Brothers Johnson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Metal Thangz record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joensuu 1685 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Warsaw,
Hoover,
B.T. Express,
Roger Hodgson,
Yaz,
The J.B.'s,
Skaos,
Brick,
The Dead C,
Saccharine Trust,
New York Dolls,
Bang On A Can,
Peter and Kerry,
Ronan,
Theoretical Girls,
Eve St. Jones,
the Soft Cell,
Jacob Miller,
Pagans,
Desert Stars,
Ludus,
Jeff Lynne,
John Holt,
Loose Ends,
Sound Behaviour,
Moby Grape,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Robert Wyatt,
Vladislav Delay,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
World's Most,
Leonard Cohen,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Traffic Nightmare,
Flipper,
Model 500,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Robert Hood,
Electric Prunes,
The Dave Clark Five,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Isaac Hayes,
L. Decosne,
Derrick Morgan,
Technova,
The Durutti Column,
Ten City,
Arthur Verocai,
Lou Christie,
The Neon Judgement,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Residents,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
H. Thieme,
Magma,
The Martian,
The Gap Band,
Can,
Brothers Johnson,
Ponytail,
Goldenarms,
June Days,
Skarface, Skarface, Skarface, Skarface.
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.