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 Tunisia and from Seoul.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Roxette to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic. All the underground hits.
All Matthew Halsall tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fortunes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Beau Brummels,
Soft Cell,
Hashim,
Yusef Lateef,
Ten City,
E-Dancer,
AZ,
Wasted Youth,
Todd Terry,
Jeru the Damaja,
Easy Going,
Colin Newman,
The Techniques,
The Dave Clark Five,
Electric Prunes,
The Shadows of Knight,
Spandau Ballet,
Jeff Mills,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Jawbox,
Cal Tjader,
Piero Umiliani,
Lucky Dragons,
Country Joe & The Fish,
John Foxx,
Marvin Gaye,
Popol Vuh,
Gong,
Johnny Osbourne,
Bush Tetras,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Little Man,
Fat Boys,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
The Names,
Tom Boy,
Robert Hood,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Cecil Taylor,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Dawn Penn,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Man Eating Sloth,
Gang of Four,
cv313,
Rites of Spring,
Zapp,
Liliput,
The Smiths,
Franke,
Joensuu 1685,
Steve Hackett,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Victims,
Average White Band,
UT,
Judy Mowatt,
This Heat,
Aswad,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Neon Judgement,
Avey Tare, Avey Tare, Avey Tare, Avey Tare.
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.