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 Algeria and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 synthesizer 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 Radio Birdman to the punk 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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All It's A Beautiful Day tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Y Pants 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 spring reverb and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Eating Sloth,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Warren Ellis,
Derrick Morgan,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Icehouse,
Curtis Mayfield,
Urselle,
Sparks,
T.S.O.L.,
Carl Craig,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Minor Threat,
Radiohead,
Essential Logic,
Basic Channel,
Public Image Ltd.,
Absolute Body Control,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Magma,
Camouflage,
Lindisfarne,
Albert Ayler,
Swans,
Grauzone,
the Fania All-Stars,
Scientists,
Slave,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Robert Hood,
Royal Trux,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Beau Brummels,
Jerry's Kids,
Parry Music,
Steve Hackett,
Cybotron,
Sight & Sound,
Slick Rick,
Y Pants,
Franke,
Mark Hollis,
Country Teasers,
The Red Krayola,
The Litter,
Sun City Girls,
The Last Poets,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Barracudas,
Gregory Isaacs,
Barry Ungar,
Tres Demented,
Harry Pussy,
Throbbing Gristle,
Los Fastidios,
Darondo,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Japan,
the Bar-Kays,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Pantytec,
U.S. Maple, U.S. Maple, U.S. Maple, U.S. Maple.
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.