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 Jamaica and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Matthew Bourne to the grime 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 Fad Gadget. All the underground hits.
All B.T. Express tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Charles Mingus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 snare and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eric Dolphy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The American Breed,
Letta Mbulu,
Arab on Radar,
Idris Muhammad,
Eric B and Rakim,
Connie Case,
Rapeman,
Susan Cadogan,
The Neon Judgement,
The Music Machine,
Silicon Teens,
Y Pants,
X-Ray Spex,
The Electric Prunes,
8 Eyed Spy,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Rites of Spring,
Fela Kuti,
Television,
Suburban Knight,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Dorothy Ashby,
Simply Red,
Bobby Byrd,
Cecil Taylor,
Chris Corsano,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Monks,
Magazine,
Mark Hollis,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Theoretical Girls,
The Angels of Light,
Warsaw,
The Toasters,
Black Moon,
Swell Maps,
Flipper,
Pussy Galore,
Marmalade,
Circle Jerks,
Mantronix,
Ultra Naté,
Wire,
Dave Gahan,
Masters at Work,
The Beau Brummels,
T. Rex,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Banda Bassotti,
Thee Headcoats,
Surgeon,
Public Enemy,
Sugar Minott,
The Fall,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Gories,
Cheater Slicks,
The Victims,
Interpol,
DJ Sneak,
Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope.
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.