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 Netherlands and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Cheater Slicks to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Tears for Fears. All the underground hits.
All Babytalk tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Reed & Metallica record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Black Dice record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Bananas,
The Remains,
Gastr Del Sol,
Malaria!,
Girls At Our Best!,
U.S. Maple,
Wally Richardson,
Depeche Mode,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Sound,
Little Man,
The Durutti Column,
Marvin Gaye,
The United States of America,
Joe Smooth,
Rosa Yemen,
Connie Case,
Outsiders,
Black Pus,
Tears for Fears,
Pulsallama,
Bobby Womack,
Pet Shop Boys,
Eric Dolphy,
The Move,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Soul II Soul,
Agent Orange,
Cluster,
Nils Olav,
Junior Murvin,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lucky Dragons,
Funky Four + One,
Pole,
Scratch Acid,
Bill Wells,
E-Dancer,
MDC,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Babytalk,
The Index,
Jimmy McGriff,
Loose Ends,
Marshall Jefferson,
Schoolly D,
The Cowsills,
Sugar Minott,
Derrick May,
Aswad,
Nico,
Jacob Miller,
The Smiths,
The Victims,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Slackers,
Cymande,
The Fugs,
Moss Icon,
The Divine Comedy,
Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon.
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.