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 Cuba and from Milan.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Fania All-Stars to the dance 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All The Men They Couldn't Hang tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Kinks 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 theremin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Laurel Aitken record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
the Slits,
John Coltrane,
Bill Wells,
Adolescents,
K-Klass,
June of 44,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Camouflage,
The Durutti Column,
Quantec,
Silicon Teens,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Los Fastidios,
Jeff Lynne,
Jeru the Damaja,
Pantytec,
Pantaleimon,
Jacob Miller,
Rapeman,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Radio Birdman,
Half Japanese,
Bobbi Humphrey,
the Normal,
Qualms,
Moby Grape,
Patti Smith,
Tropical Tobacco,
Anthony Braxton,
Stiv Bators,
Country Joe & The Fish,
ABBA,
Banda Bassotti,
Newcleus,
Sound Behaviour,
Scrapy,
Danielle Patucci,
Davy DMX,
Jesper Dahlback,
Deadbeat,
Ten City,
Lou Christie,
Amon Düül,
Faraquet,
Marcia Griffiths,
Swell Maps,
Flash Fearless,
Visage,
Magazine,
Anakelly,
Marine Girls,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Red Krayola,
Donny Hathaway,
Boredoms,
Jerry's Kids,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Kinks,
Blancmange,
The Motions,
The Grass Roots,
U.S. Maple,
The Stooges, The Stooges, The Stooges, The Stooges.
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.