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 Honduras and from Tokyo.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Max Romeo. All the underground hits.
All Scientists tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ajijia Myrayebe 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Theoretical Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
Drexciya,
Jeff Mills,
Dead Boys,
Ponytail,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Avey Tare,
Gang Green,
Suicide,
Pierre Henry,
Pole,
Marcia Griffiths,
Monks,
Lakeside,
Kool Moe Dee,
Moss Icon,
T. Rex,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Connie Case,
Siglo XX,
Eric B and Rakim,
Crooked Eye,
Bad Manners,
Monolake,
The Techniques,
Piero Umiliani,
Make Up,
Vainqueur,
Howard Jones,
Albert Ayler,
The Dead C,
The Smiths,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Buckinghams,
Shoche,
Black Moon,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Panda Bear,
Guru Guru,
Fatback Band,
Symarip,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Jeru the Damaja,
David McCallum,
Prince Buster,
The Motions,
Livin' Joy,
Reuben Wilson,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Malaria!,
Harpers Bizarre,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Adolescents,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Radiopuhelimet,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Ossler,
R.M.O.,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
John Lydon,
Hot Snakes,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Warsaw,
Procol Harum, Procol Harum, Procol Harum, Procol Harum.
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.