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 Estonia and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Captain Beefheart 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 Archie Shepp to the electroclash 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 Danielle Patucci. All the underground hits.
All Y Pants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gerry Rafferty record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
Black Bananas,
Ornette Coleman,
The Skatalites,
Black Pus,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Neu!,
Radiohead,
Livin' Joy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Oblivians,
The Human League,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Interpol,
Lungfish,
Throbbing Gristle,
Goldenarms,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Boogie Down Productions,
Rapeman,
Spoonie Gee,
Swans,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Pere Ubu,
Laurel Aitken,
Parry Music,
Janne Schatter,
Sister Nancy,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Searchers,
Visage,
Minor Threat,
Girls At Our Best!,
Popol Vuh,
Pagans,
The Smiths,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Misunderstood,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Flash Fearless,
Andrew Hill,
The Smoke,
B.T. Express,
The Wake,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Bobby Womack,
Bang On A Can,
The Grass Roots,
Max Romeo,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Todd Terry,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Litter,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Albert Ayler,
Amazonics,
The Five Americans,
Lyres,
Kerrie Biddell,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, Red Lorry Yellow Lorry.
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.