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 Azerbaijan and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Angry Samoans to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Roxy Music. All the underground hits.
All Joensuu 1685 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Foxx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wally Richardson,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Chrome,
Roger Hodgson,
Bob Dylan,
the Normal,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Spandau Ballet,
Kerri Chandler,
One Last Wish,
Gregory Isaacs,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Mantronix,
Man Parrish,
The Fuzztones,
Roxette,
K-Klass,
Jawbox,
Minnie Riperton,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
DJ Sneak,
Stockholm Monsters,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Names,
Brand Nubian,
The Gap Band,
Shuggie Otis,
Essential Logic,
Ronan,
Kaleidoscope,
Fugazi,
The Mummies,
Robert Görl,
Chris & Cosey,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Warsaw,
Pet Shop Boys,
Joensuu 1685,
Bill Wells,
Alton Ellis,
Gong,
The Count Five,
This Heat,
Throbbing Gristle,
Niagra,
The Selecter,
T.S.O.L.,
Sam Rivers,
Grauzone,
Gabor Szabo,
Marmalade,
Popol Vuh,
Camouflage,
Guru Guru,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Black Pus,
Josef K,
Davy DMX,
Bobby Womack,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Tubeway Army,
Boz Scaggs,
The Velvet Underground,
Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding.
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.