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 Azerbaijan and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 snare 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 Alice Coltrane to the electroclash 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 Reuben Wilson. All the underground hits.
All Brick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Faraquet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Qualms record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar 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 Men They Couldn't Hang,
Colin Newman,
The Red Krayola,
Spandau Ballet,
The Residents,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Sex Pistols,
the Bar-Kays,
Flipper,
Marvin Gaye,
Robert Görl,
Cabaret Voltaire,
MDC,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Robert Wyatt,
Kerri Chandler,
The Golliwogs,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Cure,
Jawbox,
Q65,
The Skatalites,
Boogie Down Productions,
Jerry's Kids,
Livin' Joy,
Scratch Acid,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Altered Images,
Quantec,
The Cramps,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Happenings,
These Immortal Souls,
Marine Girls,
The Stooges,
Thee Headcoats,
Rakim,
Fela Kuti,
Dead Boys,
Motorama,
Amon Düül II,
The Last Poets,
Intrusion,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
the Fania All-Stars,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
the Slits,
Bobby Womack,
Public Image Ltd.,
Traffic Nightmare,
Vladislav Delay,
the Soft Cell,
Subhumans,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Fortunes,
The New Christs,
Khruangbin,
Pierre Henry,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Crispian St. Peters,
Slick Rick,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Heaven 17,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock.
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.