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 Morocco and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 D'Angelo to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Rekid. All the underground hits.
All OOIOO tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Drive Like Jehu 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a De La Soul & Jungle Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
U.S. Maple,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Crash Course in Science,
Minnie Riperton,
Supertramp,
Crime,
Porter Ricks,
the Sonics,
Traffic Nightmare,
Spandau Ballet,
The Seeds,
Barrington Levy,
The Five Americans,
Lower 48,
The Index,
Avey Tare,
Pere Ubu,
D'Angelo,
Scott Walker,
The Red Krayola,
Scion,
Ohio Players,
Idris Muhammad,
The Blues Magoos,
Soft Machine,
Franke,
The Moleskins,
Carl Craig,
Pussy Galore,
Brand Nubian,
Fatback Band,
Amazonics,
Zapp,
Nas,
Eyeless In Gaza,
EPMD,
Chrome,
DJ Style,
The Trojans,
Schoolly D,
Scratch Acid,
Robert Görl,
Mission of Burma,
Susan Cadogan,
Alison Limerick,
Sexual Harrassment,
Young Marble Giants,
Index,
Ludus,
Eric B and Rakim,
Judy Mowatt,
Y Pants,
Glambeats Corp.,
Scrapy,
Gil Scott Heron,
Sight & Sound,
Gang Gang Dance,
Scan 7,
Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage.
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.