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 Armenia and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines to the electroclash 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 Mary Jane Girls. All the underground hits.
All Metal Thangz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Bar-Kays record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Kevin Saunderson,
A Certain Ratio,
AZ,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Johnny Clarke,
Sugar Minott,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Kerri Chandler,
Cecil Taylor,
H. Thieme,
Eddi Front,
The Mojo Men,
Pussy Galore,
Sister Nancy,
Hardrive,
Excepter,
The Tremeloes,
Spandau Ballet,
Sexual Harrassment,
Glambeats Corp.,
DJ Sneak,
The Fugs,
Yazoo,
Lakeside,
Juan Atkins,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Television,
Scrapy,
Lebanon Hanover,
X-102,
Quando Quango,
U.S. Maple,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Barracudas,
The Saints,
The Modern Lovers,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Mad Mike,
Nils Olav,
Eric B and Rakim,
Depeche Mode,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Suicide,
The Knickerbockers,
Minor Threat,
Sonny Sharrock,
Todd Rundgren,
Lower 48,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Section 25,
Scratch Acid,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Funky Four + One,
the Normal,
Faust,
The Techniques,
Joey Negro,
Alphaville,
The Young Rascals, The Young Rascals, The Young Rascals, The Young Rascals.
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.