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 Malawi and from Seoul.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 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 Arab on Radar to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The Walker Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Jeff Mills tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Buzzcocks 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Byron Stingily record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Selecter,
Sun Ra,
One Last Wish,
Quadrant,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Sandy B,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Rufus Thomas,
The Fortunes,
Cecil Taylor,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Circle Jerks,
The Smiths,
Boredoms,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Nik Kershaw,
X-Ray Spex,
Kevin Saunderson,
Dual Sessions,
The Modern Lovers,
Newcleus,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Smoke,
The Motions,
Quantec,
Dorothy Ashby,
Lucky Dragons,
Ituana,
Stockholm Monsters,
Joy Division,
Suicide,
Mary Jane Girls,
Visage,
Faraquet,
The Wake,
Flash Fearless,
Deadbeat,
Darondo,
Al Stewart,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Star Department,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Dirtbombs,
Ultra Naté,
X-101,
Joe Smooth,
Crash Course in Science,
Rites of Spring,
a-ha,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Fatback Band,
Rotary Connection,
Gang of Four,
The Durutti Column,
Severed Heads,
Alice Coltrane,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Yaz,
Leonard Cohen,
Bobby Byrd,
Tim Buckley,
The Evens,
Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia.
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.