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 Qatar and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Liaisons Dangereuses to the electroclash 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 Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam. All the underground hits.
All The Pretty Things tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The New Christs 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bush Tetras,
Guru Guru,
K-Klass,
Average White Band,
World's Most,
Bauhaus,
Robert Görl,
Lindisfarne,
Todd Terry,
Harry Pussy,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Ten City,
Donny Hathaway,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Grey Daturas,
Ludus,
Flipper,
The Fortunes,
OOIOO,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Zeros,
Electric Prunes,
Television,
Rites of Spring,
Index,
Marvin Gaye,
Oblivians,
Yazoo,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
The Offenders,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Television Personalities,
Pagans,
Pierre Henry,
The Selecter,
Gregory Isaacs,
Alton Ellis,
Albert Ayler,
Rosa Yemen,
Eden Ahbez,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Moby Grape,
Depeche Mode,
Theoretical Girls,
The Divine Comedy,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Ornette Coleman,
Vainqueur,
Black Bananas,
The Remains,
Sonny Sharrock,
10cc,
Outsiders,
Todd Rundgren,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Cheater Slicks,
Robert Hood,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Donald Byrd,
Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes.
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.