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 Guinea-Bissau and from Mexico City.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Red Krayola to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Arab on Radar. All the underground hits.
All The Leaves tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Neu! record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Gun Club,
Magazine,
Jacques Brel,
Cameo,
Peter and Kerry,
James White and The Blacks,
Girls At Our Best!,
Public Enemy,
Harry Pussy,
Slave,
Ronan,
The Invisible,
Maleditus Sound,
The New Christs,
The Doors,
Echospace,
Crooked Eye,
Matthew Bourne,
Ohio Players,
The Associates,
The Skatalites,
Hashim,
Scan 7,
Drive Like Jehu,
Smog,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Das Ding,
Qualms,
Symarip,
Franke,
Connie Case,
Lalann,
The Happenings,
FM Einheit,
Loose Ends,
Black Flag,
Idris Muhammad,
L. Decosne,
Excepter,
Mission of Burma,
Dual Sessions,
Al Stewart,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Blancmange,
The Trojans,
Sonny Sharrock,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Bush Tetras,
Buzzcocks,
Clear Light,
Radio Birdman,
Monks,
Barry Ungar,
Frankie Knuckles,
Shuggie Otis,
Pantaleimon,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Saints,
Sun City Girls,
The Beau Brummels,
Isaac Hayes,
Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review.
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.