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 Belize and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Jerry Gold Smith to the electroclash 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 Theoretical Girls. All the underground hits.
All The Slackers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Moody Blues record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare 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 theremin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Names,
Crispy Ambulance,
Barclay James Harvest,
Robert Görl,
Pylon,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Andrew Hill,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Hasil Adkins,
Tubeway Army,
Black Pus,
UT,
Amazonics,
Inner City,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Slits,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Dorothy Ashby,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Associates,
Liliput,
FM Einheit,
the Human League,
DJ Sneak,
This Heat,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Joe Smooth,
Outsiders,
Piero Umiliani,
A Flock of Seagulls,
the Fania All-Stars,
ABBA,
Infiniti,
Kurtis Blow,
Nirvana,
Frankie Knuckles,
Ultimate Spinach,
OOIOO,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Jesper Dahlback,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Hashim,
X-102,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Invisible,
The Smoke,
Fear,
Bootsy Collins,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Albert Ayler,
Hot Snakes,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Kerrie Biddell,
Section 25,
The Offenders,
Johnny Osbourne,
Leonard Cohen,
Lou Christie,
New Age Steppers,
Ice-T,
DNA, DNA, DNA, DNA.
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.