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 Yemen and from Delhi.
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 1965 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Seeds to the grime 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 Jeff Mills. All the underground hits.
All R.M.O. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Eating Sloth 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fugs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grandmaster Flash,
Kerri Chandler,
Crispian St. Peters,
Nick Fraelich,
Saccharine Trust,
Franke,
Khruangbin,
Grey Daturas,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Busters,
Minor Threat,
Clear Light,
Boredoms,
Godley & Creme,
Intrusion,
Funkadelic,
the Swans,
Warsaw,
U.S. Maple,
Mary Jane Girls,
Quadrant,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Dave Gahan,
The Knickerbockers,
Yaz,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
John Holt,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Barrington Levy,
June of 44,
Surgeon,
The Martian,
The Durutti Column,
Black Bananas,
Outsiders,
Inner City,
The Doors,
Kenny Larkin,
Pylon,
Gang of Four,
Janne Schatter,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
F. McDonald,
John Lydon,
Sun City Girls,
Guru Guru,
Bauhaus,
Black Pus,
Agent Orange,
Camouflage,
Oneida,
Frankie Knuckles,
Scott Walker,
Man Parrish,
Tomorrow,
Model 500,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Lalann,
Pet Shop Boys,
Gang Green,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
H. Thieme,
The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators.
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.