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 Lithuania and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 guitar 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 Lalo Schifrin to the disco 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 Electric Prunes. All the underground hits.
All The Last Poets tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Flesh Eaters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donald Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Count Five,
Bizarre Inc.,
Gang Starr,
Monks,
Joyce Sims,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Evens,
Bobby Byrd,
Sparks,
Pylon,
Oneida,
China Crisis,
Livin' Joy,
The Trojans,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Seeds,
Lou Reed,
Rufus Thomas,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Fugs,
Essential Logic,
F. McDonald,
Gastr Del Sol,
Kevin Saunderson,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Delta 5,
New Age Steppers,
Goldenarms,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
the Bar-Kays,
Q65,
Barbara Tucker,
DJ Sneak,
the Normal,
Bill Wells,
Joe Smooth,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
PIL,
Barry Ungar,
the Fania All-Stars,
Infiniti,
Stetsasonic,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Dark Day,
Country Teasers,
The Gladiators,
Ken Boothe,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Erasure,
The Five Americans,
Porter Ricks,
Oblivians,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
La Düsseldorf,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Anakelly,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Wire, Wire, Wire, Wire.
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.