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 Saudi Arabia and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Salvador.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Index to the rap 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 The Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All Minor Threat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nik Kershaw 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pulsallama record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Banda Bassotti,
Boredoms,
Bang On A Can,
Kerri Chandler,
Maleditus Sound,
Lyres,
Pussy Galore,
These Immortal Souls,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Victims,
Camberwell Now,
The Neon Judgement,
Tim Buckley,
Colin Newman,
Lou Christie,
Skriet,
Organ,
Gang Green,
Desert Stars,
Avey Tare,
Byron Stingily,
Nils Olav,
Godley & Creme,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Unwound,
OOIOO,
Sugar Minott,
Visage,
Connie Case,
Terrestrial Tones,
Joensuu 1685,
X-102,
Rod Modell,
Stiv Bators,
Amon Düül II,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Index,
Jeff Lynne,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Sandy B,
The Evens,
Lalann,
Henry Cow,
John Holt,
Rekid,
Wings,
The Slackers,
Harmonia,
Pierre Henry,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Dead Boys,
LL Cool J,
Niagra,
Angry Samoans,
Rapeman,
Thee Headcoats,
Country Teasers,
The Saints,
Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader.
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.