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 East Timor and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 oboe 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 The Durutti Column to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Gichy Dan. All the underground hits.
All Gastr Del Sol tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fear 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Be Bop Deluxe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Invisible,
the Association,
Roy Ayers,
Aswad,
Fat Boys,
The Vogues,
Lungfish,
The Smiths,
a-ha,
The New Christs,
Don Cherry,
Stiv Bators,
June Days,
Ohio Players,
Jimmy McGriff,
Soft Machine,
Deadbeat,
Los Fastidios,
Cybotron,
Aloha Tigers,
Nick Fraelich,
Eden Ahbez,
Robert Hood,
Brand Nubian,
Connie Case,
The Young Rascals,
Bad Manners,
JFA,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Brothers Johnson,
Panda Bear,
The Alarm Clocks,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Black Flag,
Kool Moe Dee,
Zapp,
Anthony Braxton,
John Holt,
The Remains,
Pussy Galore,
Hardrive,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Marine Girls,
Chrome,
Theoretical Girls,
Metal Thangz,
Lakeside,
Oblivians,
Pere Ubu,
Glenn Branca,
Throbbing Gristle,
Grauzone,
Andrew Hill,
Main Source,
Trumans Water,
MC5,
Warsaw,
the Soft Cell,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Alice Coltrane,
Silicon Teens,
Black Bananas,
Colin Newman,
Morten Harket,
Cymande, Cymande, Cymande, Cymande.
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.