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 Burundi and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the marimba 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 Sugar Minott to the techno 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 Barry Ungar. All the underground hits.
All Man Eating Sloth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Be Bop Deluxe 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Das Ding,
The Busters,
The Barracudas,
Eurythmics,
The Slits,
the Fania All-Stars,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Don Cherry,
Visage,
Bush Tetras,
Joey Negro,
The Divine Comedy,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Organ,
The Doobie Brothers,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Sonics,
Mad Mike,
Malaria!,
Soul II Soul,
Mars,
Warsaw,
David McCallum,
Joensuu 1685,
Pierre Henry,
Hasil Adkins,
Symarip,
Siglo XX,
The Black Dice,
Lalo Schifrin,
Crispy Ambulance,
Lucky Dragons,
Ludus,
Wings,
Janne Schatter,
Adolescents,
Byron Stingily,
John Lydon,
The Zeros,
Marine Girls,
Royal Trux,
Scott Walker,
Amon Düül,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Nas,
Funky Four + One,
Suburban Knight,
the Association,
Radio Birdman,
Lou Reed,
Kurtis Blow,
Harpers Bizarre,
Rites of Spring,
Minny Pops,
Rod Modell,
Bang On A Can,
Intrusion,
Max Romeo,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Minnie Riperton,
Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics.
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.