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 Moldova and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 Lille and Portland.
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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Derrick May to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Public Image Ltd.. All the underground hits.
All Spoonie Gee tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every L. Decosne 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Misunderstood,
Bobby Byrd,
Harpers Bizarre,
48th St. Collective,
Brand Nubian,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Theoretical Girls,
T. Rex,
Severed Heads,
Todd Terry,
Warsaw,
Terrestrial Tones,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Raincoats,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Skriet,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Index,
Pet Shop Boys,
Bobby Sherman,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Boredoms,
Public Enemy,
Donald Byrd,
Oneida,
Cybotron,
Soft Machine,
Fat Boys,
Shuggie Otis,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
John Lydon,
Cymande,
Black Bananas,
Mandrill,
Slave,
Gang Gang Dance,
Nick Fraelich,
Sixth Finger,
Connie Case,
Crooked Eye,
Ponytail,
Kenny Larkin,
Schoolly D,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Lindisfarne,
Sex Pistols,
Quantec,
The Buckinghams,
Prince Buster,
Mad Mike,
Robert Wyatt,
Piero Umiliani,
The Divine Comedy,
Cal Tjader,
Nas,
Oblivians,
Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish.
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.