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 Iraq and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Doobie Brothers to the grime 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 Essential Logic. All the underground hits.
All Flash Fearless tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marvin Gaye 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The New Christs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Junior Murvin,
Bobby Sherman,
Magazine,
Cymande,
Harry Pussy,
Soft Cell,
The Blues Magoos,
Robert Hood,
Black Pus,
The Gun Club,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Funkadelic,
X-101,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Walker Brothers,
The Names,
Shoche,
Slick Rick,
Jesper Dahlback,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Slave,
Brick,
New York Dolls,
Absolute Body Control,
Malaria!,
EPMD,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Victims,
Faust,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Joensuu 1685,
Anthony Braxton,
Loose Ends,
The Cosmic Jokers,
the Slits,
the Fania All-Stars,
Bobby Hutcherson,
ABBA,
Gerry Rafferty,
Interpol,
The Slits,
Pantytec,
Popol Vuh,
Visage,
Technova,
Lyres,
The Saints,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Panda Bear,
The Beau Brummels,
Rapeman,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Circle Jerks,
Barbara Tucker,
Fugazi,
Lou Reed,
Danielle Patucci,
The Red Krayola,
Neil Young,
Cameo,
The Sonics,
LL Cool J,
Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier.
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.