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 Fiji and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Shanghai.
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 chamberlin 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 the Slits to the crunk 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 Bootsy Collins. All the underground hits.
All Monolake tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Sherman record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Slave record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Pop Group,
The J.B.'s,
Fat Boys,
Urselle,
Vainqueur,
The Slackers,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Neon Judgement,
Patti Smith,
The Wake,
Shuggie Otis,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Marc Almond,
Loose Ends,
Tres Demented,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Make Up,
Albert Ayler,
The Dirtbombs,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Interpol,
Michelle Simonal,
Colin Newman,
Adolescents,
Theoretical Girls,
Josef K,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Moleskins,
Wire,
Excepter,
China Crisis,
Newcleus,
Blake Baxter,
Crime,
Television,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Terry Callier,
The Flesh Eaters,
H. Thieme,
Todd Terry,
Arthur Verocai,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Technova,
Banda Bassotti,
Tears for Fears,
Ronnie Foster,
Rufus Thomas,
Danielle Patucci,
Cameo,
Lee Hazlewood,
Laurel Aitken,
Jeff Mills,
Avey Tare,
Kerri Chandler,
Unrelated Segments,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Glenn Branca,
Trumans Water,
The Blackbyrds,
Black Pus,
Accadde A,
The Victims, The Victims, The Victims, The Victims.
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.