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 United Kingdom and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 theremin 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 Smog to the techno kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Selecter. All the underground hits.
All Country Joe & The Fish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The New Christs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 clarinet and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cal Tjader record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Alice Coltrane,
Connie Case,
Frankie Knuckles,
Rufus Thomas,
Goldenarms,
Johnny Clarke,
Severed Heads,
Scion,
Scott Walker,
Steve Hackett,
Guru Guru,
Max Romeo,
Magazine,
The Toasters,
Crime,
DJ Style,
Rotary Connection,
Dead Boys,
Reuben Wilson,
The Grass Roots,
Unwound,
Electric Prunes,
B.T. Express,
Magma,
Monolake,
Kool Moe Dee,
Terry Callier,
The Gladiators,
Kerri Chandler,
Jeff Mills,
Black Pus,
Soul II Soul,
Ludus,
Moss Icon,
Tubeway Army,
Radio Birdman,
Archie Shepp,
The Blackbyrds,
Jeff Lynne,
The Electric Prunes,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Funky Four + One,
Lee Hazlewood,
Chrome,
the Association,
The Selecter,
Bronski Beat,
Skaos,
June of 44,
Index,
The Sound,
Pierre Henry,
This Heat,
The Remains,
Bush Tetras,
Mandrill,
The Red Krayola,
Von Mondo,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Malaria!,
A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls.
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.