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 Angola and from Shanghai.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Black Dice 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 Loose Ends. All the underground hits.
All Terror Squad Feat. Camron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Liaisons Dangereuses 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Detroit Cobras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Index,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Blues Magoos,
Rufus Thomas,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Nas,
Alphaville,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Modern Lovers,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Brass Construction,
Roxy Music,
Barbara Tucker,
Soft Cell,
Ronan,
Jacob Miller,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Simply Red,
the Germs,
Kerrie Biddell,
Outsiders,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Smog,
Sonic Youth,
A Certain Ratio,
Darondo,
Jacques Brel,
Skriet,
Pussy Galore,
Animal Collective,
John Coltrane,
Michelle Simonal,
Essential Logic,
Man Parrish,
Cybotron,
Saccharine Trust,
Roxette,
Frankie Knuckles,
Ken Boothe,
Junior Murvin,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Sonny Sharrock,
Talk Talk,
Mantronix,
Schoolly D,
Audionom,
H. Thieme,
Fat Boys,
Television Personalities,
Davy DMX,
Barrington Levy,
Quantec,
Erykah Badu,
Joe Finger,
Severed Heads,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Silicon Teens,
X-Ray Spex,
Supertramp,
Mr. Review,
The Velvet Underground,
Jeff Mills, Jeff Mills, Jeff Mills, Jeff Mills.
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.