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 Comoros and from Bologna.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 synthesizer 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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines 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 Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu. All the underground hits.
All John Holt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispy Ambulance record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Darondo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Animal Collective,
The Fuzztones,
These Immortal Souls,
Stereo Dub,
Theoretical Girls,
Bill Near,
Black Bananas,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Lindisfarne,
Fugazi,
Mary Jane Girls,
The United States of America,
Ultimate Spinach,
Nas,
Hashim,
Bobby Womack,
Main Source,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Goldenarms,
Peter and Kerry,
Fat Boys,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Bizarre Inc.,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Quantec,
F. McDonald,
Interpol,
Drive Like Jehu,
CMW,
Massinfluence,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Doors,
Scan 7,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Livin' Joy,
Dennis Brown,
Mark Hollis,
Quando Quango,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Deakin,
Big Daddy Kane,
Ronan,
Scott Walker,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Gang Starr,
Pole,
Simply Red,
Q and Not U,
Sonic Youth,
Niagra,
Todd Terry,
Arab on Radar,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Tommy Roe,
Suburban Knight,
Bootsy Collins,
Lee Hazlewood,
Stiv Bators,
a-ha,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.