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 New York.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the guitar 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 Gang of Four to the rock 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 Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Robert Hood record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Arcadia record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Procol Harum,
Porter Ricks,
The Martian,
Ronan,
Nik Kershaw,
The Standells,
Banda Bassotti,
The Happenings,
Lindisfarne,
Swans,
Bush Tetras,
Jandek,
Severed Heads,
The Wake,
Gabor Szabo,
Robert Wyatt,
Camberwell Now,
Babytalk,
Sister Nancy,
EPMD,
Arthur Verocai,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Subhumans,
the Germs,
Man Eating Sloth,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Motorama,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Fuzztones,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Quadrant,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Hasil Adkins,
E-Dancer,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Victims,
Eli Mardock,
James White and The Blacks,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Divine Comedy,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Al Stewart,
JFA,
Alton Ellis,
Joyce Sims,
Y Pants,
B.T. Express,
Erasure,
Lower 48,
Colin Newman,
Faraquet,
Fluxion,
The Associates,
The Leaves,
Unwound,
The Searchers,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Rekid,
The Fire Engines,
Massinfluence,
Maleditus Sound,
the Bar-Kays,
Oneida, Oneida, Oneida, Oneida.
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.