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 Paraguay and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
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 Eric Copeland to the crunk 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 Lalo Schifrin. All the underground hits.
All Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bill Wells record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brand Nubian record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Surgeon,
Wings,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Harmonia,
Visage,
Lou Christie,
Sun City Girls,
Oblivians,
Brick,
Goldenarms,
Ludus,
Agitation Free,
The Durutti Column,
Quantec,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Pretty Things,
The Skatalites,
Prince Buster,
Cymande,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Vladislav Delay,
Dorothy Ashby,
Black Moon,
Deakin,
Ohio Players,
Sex Pistols,
the Swans,
Derrick May,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
John Coltrane,
Carl Craig,
The Human League,
the Bar-Kays,
Lightning Bolt,
Thompson Twins,
a-ha,
Glambeats Corp.,
Eurythmics,
The Slits,
Kayak,
In Retrospect,
Hasil Adkins,
The Moody Blues,
D'Angelo,
The Martian,
Roger Hodgson,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
John Lydon,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Aloha Tigers,
Crispy Ambulance,
Agent Orange,
Young Marble Giants,
Au Pairs,
Camouflage,
Bootsy Collins,
Ralphi Rosario,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Groovy Waters,
Silicon Teens,
The Victims, The Victims, The Victims, The Victims.
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.