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 Suriname and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Black Pus to the disco kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Unwound. All the underground hits.
All Robert Hood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gary Puckett & The Union Gap record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 clarinet and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kango’s Stein Massive record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joe Finger,
Khruangbin,
Carl Craig,
Metal Thangz,
Eric B and Rakim,
Robert Hood,
Circle Jerks,
Warren Ellis,
Excepter,
The Trojans,
Wasted Youth,
Grandmaster Flash,
Pere Ubu,
Freddie Wadling,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Smoke,
Pulsallama,
Little Man,
ABBA,
Sex Pistols,
Rakim,
Fugazi,
The Invisible,
Jawbox,
Ken Boothe,
MDC,
Yellowson,
Bush Tetras,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Birthday Party,
Sandy B,
Drive Like Jehu,
Darondo,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Ronnie Foster,
CMW,
Nas,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Country Joe & The Fish,
David Axelrod,
Joey Negro,
Scott Walker,
Kool Moe Dee,
Franke,
The Fortunes,
The Barracudas,
The Cowsills,
Surgeon,
Pagans,
Gerry Rafferty,
Pole,
Hoover,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Golliwogs,
Tres Demented,
Wire,
Con Funk Shun,
Rosa Yemen,
Black Bananas,
Harry Pussy,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion.
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.