Infinitely Losing My Edge

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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 Iceland and from Spokane.
But I was there.

I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.

To all the kids in Bologna and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 organ 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 Slits to the grime 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 The Detroit Cobras. All the underground hits.

All Cheater Slicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every These Immortal Souls 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.

I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wasted Youth record.

I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.

I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.

But have you seen my records?

R.M.O., The United States of America, Nirvana, Al Stewart, Monks, Derrick May, Procol Harum, Pere Ubu, The Gories, kango's stein massive, Slick Rick, Make Up, Big Daddy Kane, Jerry's Kids, Ken Boothe, Bootsy Collins, Nas, Radiopuhelimet, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Sound Behaviour, The Trojans, Eve St. Jones, Jesper Dahlback, The Electric Prunes, the Bar-Kays, Scan 7, Pet Shop Boys, Siglo XX, Guru Guru, Marvin Gaye, Smog, T. Rex, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, Pylon, Marine Girls, A Certain Ratio, Vaughan Mason & Crew, ABBA, Urselle, The Litter, Kerrie Biddell, Jawbox, 48th St. Collective, Scrapy, Arab on Radar, Vainqueur, The Residents, The Selecter, Drive Like Jehu, The Leaves, The Martian, Bobbi Humphrey, Byron Stingily, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, the Slits, Television, JFA, Warren Ellis, Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane, Scott Walker, The Doobie Brothers, DJ Style, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler.

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.

A hack by Matthew Ogle who is very sorry to James Murphy and basically everyone (cheers to Darius and this for the late-night inspiration)