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 India and from Stockholm.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 rhodes 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 Charles Mingus to the crunk 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 Crooked Eye. All the underground hits.
All the Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Litter record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a EPMD record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T.S.O.L.,
Scratch Acid,
Moss Icon,
Derrick Morgan,
Livin' Joy,
Brass Construction,
Japan,
Make Up,
Mo-Dettes,
The Dirtbombs,
Wings,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Bobby Sherman,
The Durutti Column,
Maleditus Sound,
Arab on Radar,
Laurel Aitken,
Adolescents,
H. Thieme,
The Residents,
Sister Nancy,
Wasted Youth,
Scion,
Hasil Adkins,
June of 44,
Sarah Menescal,
Metal Thangz,
The Last Poets,
The Selecter,
Urselle,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
ABBA,
U.S. Maple,
Joyce Sims,
Groovy Waters,
Boz Scaggs,
Patti Smith,
Pierre Henry,
John Lydon,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Television Personalities,
cv313,
Depeche Mode,
The Smiths,
Aloha Tigers,
Alison Limerick,
EPMD,
Gang Starr,
Sonny Sharrock,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Sonics,
Avey Tare,
Bang On A Can,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Fela Kuti,
Robert Hood,
Ultra Naté,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The New Christs,
Warren Ellis,
The Litter, The Litter, The Litter, The Litter.
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.