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 Denmark and from Edmonton.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba 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 Shuggie Otis to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Manfred Mann's Earth Band. All the underground hits.
All the Association tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every It's A Beautiful Day 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Toni Rubio record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
Jacques Brel,
Amazonics,
FM Einheit,
The Black Dice,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Names,
Dave Gahan,
The Toasters,
Stereo Dub,
the Slits,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Monks,
The Selecter,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
ABBA,
JFA,
Pere Ubu,
Marvin Gaye,
ABC,
The Gories,
MDC,
Kaleidoscope,
Ronan,
Dead Boys,
Magma,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Anthony Braxton,
The Move,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Man Parrish,
Buzzcocks,
Deepchord,
The Victims,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Harry Pussy,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Lebanon Hanover,
the Human League,
Chris Corsano,
Iggy Pop,
Angry Samoans,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Crash Course in Science,
Unrelated Segments,
Ornette Coleman,
Sound Behaviour,
Althea and Donna,
Nas,
Aural Exciters,
Alton Ellis,
Lower 48,
Monks,
La Düsseldorf,
Cymande,
Lungfish,
The Evens,
The Gladiators,
Marcia Griffiths, Marcia Griffiths, Marcia Griffiths, Marcia Griffiths.
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.