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 Algeria and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 Manchester and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Stiv Bators to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 8 Eyed Spy. All the underground hits.
All Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantaleimon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 10cc record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
Amon Düül II,
Bobby Byrd,
The Sound,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
L. Decosne,
David McCallum,
The Sonics,
The Dirtbombs,
Lucky Dragons,
the Human League,
The Buckinghams,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Last Poets,
Crispian St. Peters,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Fat Boys,
Y Pants,
Pole,
Soul Sonic Force,
Black Bananas,
Lyres,
Ronan,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
World's Most,
Adolescents,
Ultra Naté,
K-Klass,
Model 500,
UT,
Leonard Cohen,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Aswad,
H. Thieme,
Lungfish,
Arcadia,
Bob Dylan,
Tommy Roe,
Deepchord,
Brand Nubian,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Jeff Mills,
Scan 7,
The Stooges,
Gerry Rafferty,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sister Nancy,
Peter & Gordon,
Wire,
Visage,
Sonic Youth,
Mad Mike,
Yaz,
Depeche Mode,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Crime,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Slave,
June Days,
Jesper Dahlback,
Scientists,
D'Angelo,
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.