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 Solomon Islands and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 synthesizer 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 Yaz to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Rod Modell. All the underground hits.
All The Gun Club tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terry Callier 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 snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Busters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Oneida,
Derrick May,
Aural Exciters,
The Kinks,
The Litter,
The Busters,
Gang of Four,
Qualms,
Steve Hackett,
Sixth Finger,
James White and The Blacks,
Magma,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Vogues,
Clear Light,
Dave Gahan,
Matthew Halsall,
Aswad,
Juan Atkins,
Rites of Spring,
Gang Gang Dance,
Piero Umiliani,
Pantytec,
Cluster,
Gil Scott Heron,
Darondo,
Massinfluence,
Interpol,
Fad Gadget,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Depeche Mode,
Crime,
Spoonie Gee,
the Human League,
Johnny Clarke,
Intrusion,
Bill Near,
Mars,
Whodini,
The Young Rascals,
The Tremeloes,
Simply Red,
The Saints,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Eddi Front,
CMW,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Johnny Osbourne,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Kas Product,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Accadde A,
The Move,
Chris Corsano,
Black Moon,
Cybotron,
Donny Hathaway,
Spandau Ballet,
Soft Cell,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.