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 Sri Lanka and from London.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 spring reverb 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 The Chocolate Watch Band to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All The J.B.'s tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every June Days record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 an arpeggiator and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Pus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fugazi,
Byron Stingily,
The Remains,
Sex Pistols,
The Velvet Underground,
Susan Cadogan,
Moby Grape,
Alphaville,
Tomorrow,
Glambeats Corp.,
Chrome,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Soft Cell,
Frankie Knuckles,
Pharoah Sanders,
Jimmy McGriff,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Black Pus,
Prince Buster,
Skarface,
Supertramp,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Brand Nubian,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Parry Music,
Ken Boothe,
Agent Orange,
The Human League,
Carl Craig,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Blues Magoos,
Sonny Sharrock,
Jerry's Kids,
Al Stewart,
Iggy Pop,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Peter and Kerry,
Sight & Sound,
Erasure,
Warren Ellis,
Tubeway Army,
Au Pairs,
Second Layer,
Arcadia,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Flipper,
Godley & Creme,
Simply Red,
Boredoms,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Flash Fearless,
The Black Dice,
Monks,
John Foxx,
Soft Machine,
Robert Görl,
Glenn Branca,
The Young Rascals,
Dual Sessions,
8 Eyed Spy,
Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin.
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.