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 Liberia and from Seoul.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Fall to the jazz 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 Byron Stingily. All the underground hits.
All The Vogues tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Christie record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Holt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roy Ayers,
Eric B and Rakim,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Wasted Youth,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Sixth Finger,
Adolescents,
Susan Cadogan,
Gang Green,
Ituana,
The Modern Lovers,
Bobby Womack,
Hoover,
Oneida,
Ronnie Foster,
PIL,
Gichy Dan,
the Sonics,
Desert Stars,
The Velvet Underground,
Stockholm Monsters,
Kurtis Blow,
Mission of Burma,
The Cramps,
The Count Five,
Jawbox,
The Remains,
Slick Rick,
The Gap Band,
Barry Ungar,
World's Most,
Roxy Music,
Delta 5,
Franke,
Terry Callier,
Intrusion,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Dave Clark Five,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Spoonie Gee,
James White and The Blacks,
Curtis Mayfield,
Connie Case,
X-102,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Electric Prunes,
Sex Pistols,
Fugazi,
Harry Pussy,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Gregory Isaacs,
MDC,
AZ,
Monks,
Make Up,
Rosa Yemen,
The Monks,
The Evens,
Jeff Mills,
the Association,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas.
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.