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 Costa Rica and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Jeru the Damaja to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Mantronix. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scion 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
The Leaves,
Minutemen,
Liliput,
Television Personalities,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Knickerbockers,
Gabor Szabo,
Eve St. Jones,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Average White Band,
Lucky Dragons,
Tres Demented,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Marine Girls,
Pussy Galore,
Soft Machine,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Bootsy Collins,
Slave,
Ituana,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Eden Ahbez,
Max Romeo,
Ken Boothe,
Lebanon Hanover,
John Cale,
Camberwell Now,
Qualms,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Gil Scott Heron,
Swans,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Lindisfarne,
Pantytec,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Sonic Youth,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Danielle Patucci,
the Slits,
Nick Fraelich,
Guru Guru,
Pharoah Sanders,
Crime,
Warren Ellis,
Mark Hollis,
Blancmange,
D'Angelo,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Roxy Music,
Sister Nancy,
Man Eating Sloth,
Bill Near,
Alice Coltrane,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Cal Tjader,
Gregory Isaacs,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Standells,
Glenn Branca,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Goldenarms,
Mad Mike,
Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May.
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.