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 Seychelles and from Johannesburg.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Desert Stars to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Qualms. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & Metallica tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sällskapet 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Ponytail,
Bill Near,
World's Most,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
UT,
Ten City,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Bang On A Can,
Peter and Kerry,
Japan,
Hoover,
Man Parrish,
The Red Krayola,
Procol Harum,
Bobby Byrd,
Pussy Galore,
Kool Moe Dee,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Stiv Bators,
Monks,
Von Mondo,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Shoche,
the Soft Cell,
Moss Icon,
Vladislav Delay,
Yaz,
Country Teasers,
Byron Stingily,
John Coltrane,
Hot Snakes,
Suicide,
Nils Olav,
The Victims,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ornette Coleman,
Shuggie Otis,
The Wake,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Jeff Mills,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Desert Stars,
Brick,
X-101,
Faust,
Warsaw,
Ultra Naté,
Kerri Chandler,
Alphaville,
Gichy Dan,
Nik Kershaw,
Cymande,
Tim Buckley,
Unrelated Segments,
Fad Gadget,
The Black Dice,
The Gladiators,
Bob Dylan,
Colin Newman,
Thee Headcoats,
Anthony Braxton, Anthony Braxton, Anthony Braxton, Anthony Braxton.
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.