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 Guinea and from Mumbai.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gang Green to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Divine Comedy. All the underground hits.
All Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mission of Burma record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Green,
The Divine Comedy,
Soft Cell,
Newcleus,
The Pretty Things,
Lalann,
The Searchers,
Gichy Dan,
The Tremeloes,
The Mummies,
the Association,
Warsaw,
Ossler,
The Monks,
Black Sheep,
Magazine,
Charles Mingus,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Sonics,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
H. Thieme,
Blancmange,
Parry Music,
Intrusion,
Jacob Miller,
Nation of Ulysses,
Wire,
The Cure,
Thompson Twins,
The Fire Engines,
Johnny Clarke,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Angry Samoans,
Kenny Larkin,
Nas,
Quantec,
Scan 7,
Deakin,
Hot Snakes,
Outsiders,
Steve Hackett,
James White and The Blacks,
Television,
Marcia Griffiths,
DNA,
Black Bananas,
Vladislav Delay,
Grey Daturas,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Boredoms,
Ultra Naté,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Nik Kershaw,
Letta Mbulu,
Infiniti,
The Pop Group,
Accadde A,
Toni Rubio,
Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas.
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.