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 Turkmenistan and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Pussy Galore to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 8 Eyed Spy. All the underground hits.
All Gerry Rafferty tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ash Ra Tempel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Faust,
The Pop Group,
Circle Jerks,
The American Breed,
Patti Smith,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Wasted Youth,
Mandrill,
Chrome,
Sister Nancy,
The Slackers,
Henry Cow,
Magma,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Rotary Connection,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Litter,
the Sonics,
Model 500,
The Skatalites,
Kayak,
Supertramp,
Siglo XX,
PIL,
Nico,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Iggy Pop,
Arcadia,
Jeru the Damaja,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
One Last Wish,
Mantronix,
The Cowsills,
Marvin Gaye,
Masters at Work,
Warsaw,
Alphaville,
Visage,
John Holt,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
KRS-One,
New Order,
Qualms,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Fad Gadget,
Con Funk Shun,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Evens,
In Retrospect,
Mo-Dettes,
Can,
Rufus Thomas,
Tommy Roe,
Stereo Dub,
DJ Style,
H. Thieme,
The Blackbyrds,
Tim Buckley,
The Raincoats,
The Flesh Eaters,
Marmalade,
Procol Harum, Procol Harum, Procol Harum, Procol Harum.
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.