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 Sri Lanka and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Birthday Party to the electroclash 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 T.S.O.L.. All the underground hits.
All Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Outsiders record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rosa Yemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Fugazi,
the Fania All-Stars,
Radio Birdman,
the Bar-Kays,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Icehouse,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
DNA,
The Flesh Eaters,
Panda Bear,
Cluster,
Stiv Bators,
Pierre Henry,
Bobby Byrd,
The Saints,
Man Parrish,
The Fuzztones,
Ten City,
Wasted Youth,
Angry Samoans,
Crooked Eye,
Blossom Toes,
In Retrospect,
Negative Approach,
Quando Quango,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Terrestrial Tones,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Shuggie Otis,
The Litter,
Slick Rick,
Skaos,
Ornette Coleman,
The Five Americans,
Radiohead,
The Skatalites,
Reagan Youth,
Grey Daturas,
The Slackers,
The Barracudas,
Mars,
Loose Ends,
Joey Negro,
Bootsy Collins,
Cameo,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Duran Duran,
Saccharine Trust,
David Bowie,
Spoonie Gee,
Mr. Review,
The Dave Clark Five,
Bronski Beat,
Nils Olav,
Kerrie Biddell,
EPMD,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bang On A Can,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Pole,
The Human League,
The Pop Group,
Camberwell Now, Camberwell Now, Camberwell Now, Camberwell Now.
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.