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 Mexico and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Hot Snakes to the grunge 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 Wolf Eyes. All the underground hits.
All Eric Dolphy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marshall Jefferson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Funky Four + One,
The Remains,
The Moody Blues,
The Durutti Column,
Organ,
Ultravox,
Erykah Badu,
The Birthday Party,
Bang On A Can,
The Sound,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Toasters,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Trojans,
Moebius,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Be Bop Deluxe,
JFA,
The Shadows of Knight,
Al Stewart,
Unwound,
Piero Umiliani,
Basic Channel,
Charles Mingus,
Sex Pistols,
Sällskapet,
Graham Central Station,
Nils Olav,
Joe Finger,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Chrome,
the Human League,
Ten City,
Brass Construction,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Walker Brothers,
The Wake,
John Lydon,
Throbbing Gristle,
Main Source,
Lungfish,
Joensuu 1685,
Crispian St. Peters,
Mo-Dettes,
Sandy B,
Letta Mbulu,
Harry Pussy,
Brand Nubian,
The Young Rascals,
Lalo Schifrin,
Aural Exciters,
Joyce Sims,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Rod Modell,
Robert Görl,
Moss Icon,
Pole,
Monks,
Depeche Mode,
David Axelrod,
The Vogues,
Warsaw, Warsaw, Warsaw, Warsaw.
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.