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 Papua New Guinea and from Mexico City.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Residents to the electroclash 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 Y Pants. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Interpol 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kerri Chandler record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
Chris Corsano,
Television,
Crispian St. Peters,
John Lydon,
Barry Ungar,
Amazonics,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Detroit Cobras,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Ice-T,
Hardrive,
Moss Icon,
The Fortunes,
The Red Krayola,
Sex Pistols,
Public Enemy,
David Axelrod,
Pole,
The Searchers,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Accadde A,
Black Bananas,
Byron Stingily,
Duran Duran,
Donald Byrd,
Outsiders,
Fat Boys,
Rapeman,
Funkadelic,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Subhumans,
Arab on Radar,
The Flesh Eaters,
Nik Kershaw,
The Blues Magoos,
Neil Young,
Minny Pops,
Rekid,
The Mummies,
Bauhaus,
Howard Jones,
PIL,
The Slackers,
Swell Maps,
Stockholm Monsters,
Mary Jane Girls,
Public Image Ltd.,
Laurel Aitken,
Soul Sonic Force,
Jimmy McGriff,
Intrusion,
Grey Daturas,
Nas,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Pussy Galore,
Absolute Body Control,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Drive Like Jehu,
Lower 48,
Qualms,
the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell.
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.