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 Seychelles and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Gerry Rafferty to the grime 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 Bang On A Can. All the underground hits.
All Bootsy's Rubber Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eve St. Jones 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 mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joyce Sims record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
Slick Rick,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Bootsy Collins,
Smog,
The Golliwogs,
Wings,
Livin' Joy,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
DNA,
Excepter,
The Saints,
ABC,
The Gladiators,
Sexual Harrassment,
Y Pants,
The Gun Club,
The Zeros,
Fatback Band,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Lower 48,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Marcia Griffiths,
Lyres,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Ornette Coleman,
Bill Near,
Ice-T,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Desert Stars,
Barrington Levy,
The Red Krayola,
The Music Machine,
X-101,
The Index,
Banda Bassotti,
Man Parrish,
Blossom Toes,
Au Pairs,
Theoretical Girls,
Gang Gang Dance,
F. McDonald,
Clear Light,
The Selecter,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Buckinghams,
Soulsonic Force,
Dawn Penn,
Throbbing Gristle,
Ludus,
Crispy Ambulance,
Duran Duran,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Surgeon,
Spoonie Gee,
Silicon Teens,
a-ha,
Wally Richardson,
Roxy Music,
Rapeman,
Brand Nubian,
The Human League,
The Busters, The Busters, The Busters, The Busters.
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.