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 Tanzania and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Men They Couldn't Hang to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Chrome. All the underground hits.
All Underground Resistance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Erasure record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rapeman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Country Teasers,
Ludus,
Man Parrish,
Eric Copeland,
Suicide,
Jeru the Damaja,
Jeff Mills,
Scratch Acid,
Brothers Johnson,
R.M.O.,
Chris Corsano,
The Dead C,
Pole,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
the Slits,
Gastr Del Sol,
F. McDonald,
Michelle Simonal,
The New Christs,
Fugazi,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Trojans,
Panda Bear,
Camouflage,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Los Fastidios,
The Electric Prunes,
Slave,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Fire Engines,
Throbbing Gristle,
Minor Threat,
Severed Heads,
World's Most,
The Smoke,
Ice-T,
The Black Dice,
Joe Smooth,
U.S. Maple,
K-Klass,
Moebius,
Rekid,
Bush Tetras,
The Golliwogs,
Prince Buster,
The Martian,
The Zeros,
Peter & Gordon,
June of 44,
Hoover,
Aural Exciters,
Moss Icon,
Grauzone,
Deadbeat,
Parry Music,
Moby Grape,
The Five Americans,
Quando Quango,
Bob Dylan,
Piero Umiliani,
Godley & Creme,
The Real Kids, The Real Kids, The Real Kids, The Real Kids.
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.