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 Ghana and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane to the punk 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 The Monks. All the underground hits.
All Fear tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Charles Mingus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slits,
DJ Style,
Brothers Johnson,
Mad Mike,
Hot Snakes,
Urselle,
E-Dancer,
Gang Starr,
Alison Limerick,
Bauhaus,
X-Ray Spex,
The Star Department,
Section 25,
X-101,
Bobby Byrd,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Faust,
Kerrie Biddell,
Morten Harket,
Sound Behaviour,
The Moleskins,
Tom Boy,
the Association,
Ultimate Spinach,
Simply Red,
Goldenarms,
Roxy Music,
Duran Duran,
The Sonics,
The Selecter,
The Seeds,
The Index,
The Red Krayola,
The Pretty Things,
Reuben Wilson,
Gregory Isaacs,
L. Decosne,
The Gun Club,
Newcleus,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Detroit Cobras,
Massinfluence,
The Monks,
Ultra Naté,
Terrestrial Tones,
EPMD,
Arcadia,
Aaron Thompson,
Lakeside,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
8 Eyed Spy,
Excepter,
June Days,
Warsaw,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Spoonie Gee,
MC5,
Nas,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Inner City,
The Durutti Column,
Oneida,
Desert Stars,
The Busters, The Busters, The Busters, The Busters.
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.