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 Korea North and from Hong Kong.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Terror Squad Feat. Camron to the disco kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Man Eating Sloth. All the underground hits.
All Hardrive tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Starr record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 snare and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roxette,
The Blues Magoos,
Arthur Verocai,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Harry Pussy,
Slave,
Josef K,
Deadbeat,
Dark Day,
Monolake,
Lucky Dragons,
Scion,
Ultra Naté,
Skarface,
Franke,
Depeche Mode,
Dual Sessions,
Bronski Beat,
Dead Boys,
Magazine,
Reagan Youth,
Pierre Henry,
Terry Callier,
Buzzcocks,
Blossom Toes,
Bush Tetras,
Amon Düül,
Jacob Miller,
Yellowson,
The Happenings,
Tim Buckley,
Donny Hathaway,
Tropical Tobacco,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bizarre Inc.,
Howard Jones,
DJ Sneak,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Banda Bassotti,
Malaria!,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Lungfish,
Masters at Work,
Kurtis Blow,
Mission of Burma,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Procol Harum,
Darondo,
the Germs,
David Bowie,
Warsaw,
Mark Hollis,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Aaron Thompson,
The Slackers,
T. Rex,
Rod Modell,
Barrington Levy,
Grey Daturas,
Todd Rundgren,
48th St. Collective,
Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd.
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.