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 Sierra Leone and from Tehran.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Shanghai.
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 marimba 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 Men They Couldn't Hang to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Inner City. All the underground hits.
All PIL tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Warsaw record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a clarinet and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Second Layer,
Wally Richardson,
Grandmaster Flash,
Tom Boy,
Marine Girls,
X-101,
Bronski Beat,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Gang Gang Dance,
Lalo Schifrin,
Crooked Eye,
The Blues Magoos,
Glenn Branca,
The American Breed,
Fat Boys,
New Age Steppers,
Maurizio,
DJ Style,
The Golliwogs,
Monks,
Eden Ahbez,
Bill Wells,
The Moleskins,
Nas,
Goldenarms,
CMW,
Crispy Ambulance,
Kerri Chandler,
Hashim,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Red Krayola,
Gil Scott Heron,
Girls At Our Best!,
Johnny Clarke,
The Searchers,
Pylon,
The Evens,
Oblivians,
Shoche,
The Trojans,
Matthew Bourne,
The Cramps,
T. Rex,
Al Stewart,
Loose Ends,
The Cowsills,
The Saints,
FM Einheit,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Connie Case,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Porter Ricks,
Nick Fraelich,
Skaos,
The Victims,
The Techniques,
Albert Ayler,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.