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 Turkmenistan and from Seoul.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 In Retrospect to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Brothers Johnson. All the underground hits.
All The Pretty Things tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Royal Family And The Poor record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Flash Fearless,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Faust,
Mr. Review,
Slick Rick,
The Real Kids,
Swell Maps,
Rufus Thomas,
Minor Threat,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
ABC,
Deakin,
Bobby Womack,
Eve St. Jones,
Marc Almond,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Smiths,
Lungfish,
James White and The Blacks,
Ultimate Spinach,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Tomorrow,
Wire,
Brass Construction,
Qualms,
Clear Light,
Swans,
10cc,
Donny Hathaway,
Gang of Four,
Cybotron,
Grandmaster Flash,
Crash Course in Science,
The Litter,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Whodini,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Jacob Miller,
The Raincoats,
Boz Scaggs,
Gang Starr,
Maurizio,
Stiv Bators,
Agent Orange,
Cheater Slicks,
Rapeman,
Kevin Saunderson,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
The Saints,
Aloha Tigers,
the Human League,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Harmonia,
The Monks,
the Slits,
Wings,
Subhumans,
Los Fastidios,
Kerri Chandler,
Max Romeo,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family, Angels of Light & Akron/Family.
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.