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 Norway and from Bologna.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Terror Squad Feat. Camron to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch. All the underground hits.
All Ohio Players tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brass Construction record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a EPMD record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
Cecil Taylor,
Shoche,
Jimmy McGriff,
Crash Course in Science,
The Fuzztones,
Howard Jones,
Pylon,
Junior Murvin,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ken Boothe,
The Smiths,
Aloha Tigers,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Leaves,
Shuggie Otis,
the Slits,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Drive Like Jehu,
Charles Mingus,
La Düsseldorf,
Malaria!,
Qualms,
Electric Light Orchestra,
John Lydon,
Popol Vuh,
Average White Band,
K-Klass,
DJ Style,
Todd Terry,
Fat Boys,
Cal Tjader,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Saints,
the Association,
Make Up,
Byron Stingily,
Con Funk Shun,
Urselle,
Clear Light,
Neil Young,
Susan Cadogan,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Divine Comedy,
The Electric Prunes,
Lightning Bolt,
Quando Quango,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
World's Most,
The Angels of Light,
John Cale,
Sun Ra,
KRS-One,
Wire,
E-Dancer,
Crime,
Boredoms,
Sex Pistols,
Trumans Water,
Kevin Saunderson,
Q65,
Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic.
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.