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 Tajikistan and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Ralphi Rosario to the techno 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 the Association. All the underground hits.
All The Victims tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 808 and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brass Construction record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terry Callier,
Crooked Eye,
Barclay James Harvest,
Fat Boys,
Eli Mardock,
Ultimate Spinach,
Fear,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Con Funk Shun,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Red Krayola,
Joy Division,
Piero Umiliani,
Prince Buster,
U.S. Maple,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Drive Like Jehu,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
John Lydon,
Agitation Free,
Das Ding,
Howard Jones,
Average White Band,
Amon Düül,
Donald Byrd,
Vladislav Delay,
Moebius,
the Normal,
Porter Ricks,
Outsiders,
Cameo,
X-Ray Spex,
Radio Birdman,
Bronski Beat,
the Slits,
Pylon,
Suicide,
Bobby Sherman,
Tom Boy,
Josef K,
Robert Görl,
Faraquet,
The Human League,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Selecter,
B.T. Express,
Eric Dolphy,
Subhumans,
Glenn Branca,
Letta Mbulu,
The Kinks,
Rod Modell,
Godley & Creme,
Ronnie Foster,
Mr. Review,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
LL Cool J,
Skriet,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C.
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.