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 Uruguay and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 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 The Gun Club to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Althea and Donna. All the underground hits.
All Duran Duran tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tropical Tobacco record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 guitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bang On A Can record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
In Retrospect,
Banda Bassotti,
Amazonics,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Toasters,
Bill Wells,
Silicon Teens,
Nico,
Aswad,
Hasil Adkins,
Qualms,
Ronnie Foster,
Radio Birdman,
The Mojo Men,
Gabor Szabo,
Tom Boy,
Angry Samoans,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Urselle,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Harry Pussy,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Siglo XX,
Cabaret Voltaire,
B.T. Express,
Scratch Acid,
Yazoo,
Ronan,
Arthur Verocai,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Danielle Patucci,
Khruangbin,
Idris Muhammad,
Minny Pops,
The Smoke,
Yaz,
Darondo,
Hashim,
Heaven 17,
New Age Steppers,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Grass Roots,
The Music Machine,
The Young Rascals,
MC5,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Sonics,
The Angels of Light,
Piero Umiliani,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Y Pants,
Masters at Work,
Brothers Johnson,
Laurel Aitken,
Frankie Knuckles,
Au Pairs,
Barry Ungar,
Massinfluence,
Lindisfarne,
The Star Department,
Agitation Free, Agitation Free, Agitation Free, Agitation Free.
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.