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 Malawi and from Tokyo.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 The Motions to the rap 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock. All the underground hits.
All Warsaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Charles Mingus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Quadrant record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Big Daddy Kane,
The Monks,
Outsiders,
Grey Daturas,
Kas Product,
The Offenders,
EPMD,
Grauzone,
Infiniti,
D'Angelo,
the Soft Cell,
Los Fastidios,
The Gories,
Procol Harum,
Blossom Toes,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Sonny Sharrock,
John Lydon,
Das Ding,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Cramps,
Tropical Tobacco,
Slick Rick,
Chris Corsano,
Royal Trux,
Soft Machine,
Mad Mike,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
CMW,
Ronan,
Guru Guru,
Moebius,
Dave Gahan,
ABC,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Fluxion,
Inner City,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Detroit Cobras,
Carl Craig,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Zeros,
Eric Copeland,
The Misunderstood,
Heaven 17,
The Angels of Light,
Blake Baxter,
Masters at Work,
Deakin,
Crispy Ambulance,
Popol Vuh,
Surgeon,
Panda Bear,
Groovy Waters,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Rotary Connection,
Loose Ends,
MDC,
Fatback Band,
Tomorrow,
Mission of Burma,
F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald.
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.