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 Austria and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in 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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Beijing.
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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 to the crunk 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 Motorama. All the underground hits.
All Rhythm & Sound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hoover 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Q65 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The J.B.'s,
The American Breed,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Andrew Hill,
Max Romeo,
Terrestrial Tones,
Mars,
48th St. Collective,
Iggy Pop,
The Kinks,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Unwound,
DJ Style,
Lalo Schifrin,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Cowsills,
Yellowson,
L. Decosne,
X-101,
The New Christs,
Eric Copeland,
Deepchord,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Skriet,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Knickerbockers,
Eve St. Jones,
Scratch Acid,
Gastr Del Sol,
Soul Sonic Force,
Nirvana,
Goldenarms,
The Divine Comedy,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Dark Day,
Buzzcocks,
Accadde A,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Nick Fraelich,
Rakim,
Audionom,
Marine Girls,
Bobby Sherman,
Soft Machine,
The Leaves,
The Cramps,
Bob Dylan,
Pet Shop Boys,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Sex Pistols,
Jeff Lynne,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Evens,
Bauhaus,
Public Image Ltd.,
Infiniti,
Adolescents,
The Young Rascals,
Johnny Clarke,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Agent Orange, Agent Orange, Agent Orange, Agent Orange.
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.