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 Switzerland and from Mumbai.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Brand Nubian to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Circle Jerks. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joe Finger 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 marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Magazine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispy Ambulance,
Donny Hathaway,
Niagra,
Oblivians,
Urselle,
Chrome,
Q and Not U,
Make Up,
Sarah Menescal,
Dawn Penn,
Derrick May,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Ohio Players,
The Moody Blues,
Man Eating Sloth,
KRS-One,
Colin Newman,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Siglo XX,
Blancmange,
Camouflage,
Anakelly,
Eurythmics,
The Cure,
Quantec,
Black Flag,
Bauhaus,
Massinfluence,
Buzzcocks,
Das Ding,
Don Cherry,
D'Angelo,
Erykah Badu,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Malaria!,
Skaos,
Jeff Mills,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Mary Jane Girls,
Gil Scott Heron,
Pagans,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Pretty Things,
Tropical Tobacco,
Dave Gahan,
Shoche,
Fela Kuti,
Ituana,
Graham Central Station,
The Grass Roots,
Kool Moe Dee,
Barrington Levy,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Monks,
ABBA,
Mr. Review,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Public Enemy, Public Enemy, Public Enemy, Public Enemy.
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.