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 Dominican Republic and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Mummies to the grunge 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 Barclay James Harvest. All the underground hits.
All Bill Wells tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mark Hollis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jeru the Damaja,
Pylon,
Smog,
Ponytail,
Crime,
The Martian,
Excepter,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Deepchord,
Camberwell Now,
Main Source,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Selecter,
Sandy B,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bluetip,
Malaria!,
The Kinks,
Minny Pops,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Frankie Knuckles,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Swell Maps,
The Searchers,
Deadbeat,
Sonic Youth,
Lebanon Hanover,
Zapp,
Drive Like Jehu,
Gang of Four,
Lucky Dragons,
Rod Modell,
Neil Young,
The Dave Clark Five,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Pere Ubu,
The Monochrome Set,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Ituana,
The Doobie Brothers,
Sun City Girls,
Amazonics,
Max Romeo,
Johnny Clarke,
Bootsy Collins,
Joy Division,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Bobby Byrd,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Television Personalities,
The Victims,
Mary Jane Girls,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
A Certain Ratio,
Underground Resistance,
Animal Collective,
Quantec,
ABC,
The Flesh Eaters,
Terry Callier,
Y Pants, Y Pants, Y Pants, Y Pants.
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.