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 Mauritius and from Shanghai.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 arpeggiator 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 Ultramagnetic MC's to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sonics. All the underground hits.
All Aswad tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Spandau Ballet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang of Four record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joe Smooth,
Pere Ubu,
Kurtis Blow,
Robert Görl,
The Angels of Light,
Blossom Toes,
Gang Starr,
Scott Walker,
Hoover,
Radio Birdman,
Toni Rubio,
Sugar Minott,
The Flesh Eaters,
the Swans,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Porter Ricks,
The Slits,
The Selecter,
Terry Callier,
Eli Mardock,
Cymande,
June of 44,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Dirtbombs,
Organ,
Susan Cadogan,
Jawbox,
Intrusion,
Theoretical Girls,
Procol Harum,
Don Cherry,
The Doobie Brothers,
Can,
Duran Duran,
Audionom,
Pierre Henry,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Pantaleimon,
Glambeats Corp.,
Roy Ayers,
Alice Coltrane,
Angry Samoans,
Man Eating Sloth,
Icehouse,
Eden Ahbez,
Lou Reed,
Massinfluence,
Slick Rick,
The American Breed,
CMW,
Brand Nubian,
Bill Wells,
Godley & Creme,
Tomorrow,
The Fugs,
Todd Rundgren,
Curtis Mayfield,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun.
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.