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 Malawi and from Woodstock.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Blancmange to the disco kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Scrapy. All the underground hits.
All Gian Franco Pienzio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Trojans 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a David Bowie record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
Joe Finger,
Robert Wyatt,
Derrick May,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Sonny Sharrock,
OOIOO,
Anakelly,
Slave,
Fear,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Deakin,
The Durutti Column,
Aloha Tigers,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Leaves,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
John Lydon,
Eden Ahbez,
The Raincoats,
Camouflage,
The Searchers,
Ludus,
Dual Sessions,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Hot Snakes,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Thee Headcoats,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Martian,
Ultra Naté,
Laurel Aitken,
the Germs,
Zapp,
Soft Machine,
Lightning Bolt,
the Slits,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Lyres,
The Dirtbombs,
Neil Young,
Young Marble Giants,
Letta Mbulu,
the Fania All-Stars,
Barry Ungar,
Brass Construction,
Bluetip,
Vladislav Delay,
Wally Richardson,
Minnie Riperton,
Funky Four + One,
Public Image Ltd.,
Outsiders,
Pylon,
Donald Byrd,
The Residents,
Saccharine Trust,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Charles Mingus,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters.
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.