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 Namibia and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Slits to the grime 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 Grauzone. All the underground hits.
All Peter & Gordon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Shadows of Knight record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 chamberlin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord 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?
Gang Starr,
Public Image Ltd.,
Avey Tare,
Big Daddy Kane,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Bush Tetras,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Yazoo,
Oblivians,
Mission of Burma,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Crash Course in Science,
Gastr Del Sol,
Chris Corsano,
Con Funk Shun,
Bizarre Inc.,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Monolake,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Audionom,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Invisible,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
John Holt,
Ralphi Rosario,
the Sonics,
The Smiths,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Blossom Toes,
Country Teasers,
E-Dancer,
Skriet,
The Pretty Things,
Roy Ayers,
Loose Ends,
The Remains,
Joey Negro,
Pussy Galore,
Fat Boys,
The Victims,
The Motions,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
New Order,
Juan Atkins,
Toni Rubio,
Sandy B,
Ornette Coleman,
Ultra Naté,
Graham Central Station,
the Germs,
John Coltrane,
Connie Case,
Crime,
Sam Rivers,
The Tremeloes,
Judy Mowatt,
Isaac Hayes,
Vladislav Delay,
Camberwell Now,
Chrome, Chrome, Chrome, Chrome.
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.