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 Burundi and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in 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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the güiro 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 Derrick May to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Procol Harum. All the underground hits.
All Pierre Henry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Japan 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 snare and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Animal Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
Agent Orange,
Alison Limerick,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Carl Craig,
Malaria!,
Tropical Tobacco,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
the Slits,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Delon & Dalcan,
Johnny Osbourne,
In Retrospect,
The Real Kids,
The Fuzztones,
Tom Boy,
The Slackers,
Marine Girls,
Bluetip,
Brothers Johnson,
Electric Prunes,
Lakeside,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Gap Band,
Pylon,
Kerri Chandler,
DJ Style,
The Searchers,
Swell Maps,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Pop Group,
Audionom,
Desert Stars,
Harry Pussy,
Roxy Music,
Ralphi Rosario,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Mighty Diamonds,
8 Eyed Spy,
U.S. Maple,
Drive Like Jehu,
Bobbi Humphrey,
the Germs,
The Vogues,
Ohio Players,
T.S.O.L.,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Jeff Mills,
Wings,
Angry Samoans,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
DJ Sneak,
Davy DMX,
Robert Hood,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Blues Magoos,
Ice-T,
Liliput,
Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt.
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.