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 Uganda and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 James White and The Blacks to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Crime. All the underground hits.
All The Star Department tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oppenheimer Analysis 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dawn Penn,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Black Dice,
Eric B and Rakim,
Alison Limerick,
Echospace,
Peter and Kerry,
Outsiders,
Ituana,
Monolake,
The Grass Roots,
Qualms,
The Victims,
DNA,
Wire,
Joy Division,
The Misunderstood,
Make Up,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Altered Images,
Los Fastidios,
Surgeon,
Rakim,
Zero Boys,
Bad Manners,
Absolute Body Control,
Rosa Yemen,
the Swans,
Bobby Sherman,
Sound Behaviour,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Lyres,
The Moody Blues,
Marcia Griffiths,
Scientists,
a-ha,
Piero Umiliani,
The Knickerbockers,
Johnny Clarke,
Harry Pussy,
ABBA,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Scratch Acid,
Marine Girls,
T. Rex,
Graham Central Station,
The Raincoats,
The Last Poets,
Buzzcocks,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Laurel Aitken,
Negative Approach,
Crash Course in Science,
Robert Görl,
Faust,
Sex Pistols,
Colin Newman,
Traffic Nightmare,
Spoonie Gee,
Deadbeat,
Sight & Sound,
Kenny Larkin, Kenny Larkin, Kenny Larkin, Kenny Larkin.
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.