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 Mauritius and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the sitar 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 Simply Red to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Tears for Fears. All the underground hits.
All Goldenarms tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Young Rascals record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tomorrow,
Big Daddy Kane,
Godley & Creme,
China Crisis,
The Saints,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Nils Olav,
The Buckinghams,
Television,
The Fortunes,
John Holt,
Ossler,
kango's stein massive,
Grey Daturas,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
F. McDonald,
Gichy Dan,
the Soft Cell,
Tres Demented,
Rosa Yemen,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Scrapy,
Silicon Teens,
the Bar-Kays,
Yazoo,
Deadbeat,
Bizarre Inc.,
X-101,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Ronnie Foster,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Nation of Ulysses,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
DNA,
the Germs,
Vladislav Delay,
Newcleus,
Magazine,
Kerrie Biddell,
Boredoms,
Gerry Rafferty,
Lalann,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Human League,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Inner City,
The Electric Prunes,
In Retrospect,
Josef K,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Ultimate Spinach,
Carl Craig,
Monks,
Hashim,
Nik Kershaw,
Swans,
Trumans Water,
The Detroit Cobras,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.