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 Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Eric B and Rakim to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Last Poets. All the underground hits.
All Lebanon Hanover tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Spandau Ballet 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rites of Spring record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
H. Thieme,
L. Decosne,
Fat Boys,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Eurythmics,
The Birthday Party,
Michelle Simonal,
The Grass Roots,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Eric Dolphy,
Boredoms,
Television Personalities,
Rekid,
Wasted Youth,
Jawbox,
Rapeman,
PIL,
The Raincoats,
The Human League,
Heaven 17,
Steve Hackett,
Kevin Saunderson,
Jacques Brel,
Judy Mowatt,
Minnie Riperton,
Ossler,
Pulsallama,
Duran Duran,
A Certain Ratio,
Sam Rivers,
Public Image Ltd.,
Ken Boothe,
Simply Red,
the Sonics,
Malaria!,
The Trojans,
Bill Wells,
Scan 7,
Letta Mbulu,
Skriet,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Victims,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
The Associates,
Flipper,
Fad Gadget,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Index,
Harry Pussy,
Desert Stars,
Camouflage,
Sun Ra,
Wings,
Main Source,
T. Rex,
Neil Young,
LL Cool J,
Little Man,
Fear, Fear, Fear, Fear.
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.