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 Uzbekistan and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 clarinet 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 The American Breed to the grime 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 Crash Course in Science. All the underground hits.
All the Soft Cell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pylon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 clarinet and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fat Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Seeds,
World's Most,
Henry Cow,
Graham Central Station,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Gil Scott Heron,
Silicon Teens,
The Searchers,
U.S. Maple,
Archie Shepp,
John Lydon,
The Move,
Moebius,
Eurythmics,
Fear,
Cybotron,
Grauzone,
Panda Bear,
X-Ray Spex,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Godley & Creme,
Maurizio,
Soulsonic Force,
James White and The Blacks,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Scrapy,
Tropical Tobacco,
Quantec,
Little Man,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Brick,
Rapeman,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Raincoats,
Max Romeo,
Procol Harum,
Pet Shop Boys,
John Foxx,
Stereo Dub,
Minny Pops,
The Walker Brothers,
The Blackbyrds,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Bobby Byrd,
Byron Stingily,
Khruangbin,
Bill Wells,
Connie Case,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Bauhaus,
Oneida,
The Kinks,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Camouflage,
Sight & Sound,
Lebanon Hanover,
Derrick Morgan,
Animal Collective, Animal Collective, Animal Collective, Animal Collective.
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.