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 Palau and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Malaria! to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Man Parrish. All the underground hits.
All Connie Case tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Maleditus Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 harpsichord and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Hutcherson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sonny Sharrock,
Moss Icon,
Connie Case,
Goldenarms,
Fela Kuti,
Eurythmics,
Sugar Minott,
Agent Orange,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Supertramp,
Juan Atkins,
Bill Near,
Ponytail,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
48th St. Collective,
Television Personalities,
New York Dolls,
B.T. Express,
John Holt,
Mantronix,
Glambeats Corp.,
Throbbing Gristle,
Kenny Larkin,
Iggy Pop,
Ludus,
Trumans Water,
The Martian,
Traffic Nightmare,
AZ,
Nas,
The Modern Lovers,
Stockholm Monsters,
T. Rex,
Lightning Bolt,
The Dave Clark Five,
Swell Maps,
Letta Mbulu,
Kerrie Biddell,
Stiv Bators,
Scott Walker,
The Monochrome Set,
Scientists,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Barracudas,
L. Decosne,
Susan Cadogan,
Kerri Chandler,
Eric Copeland,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Lower 48,
Idris Muhammad,
the Normal,
Drive Like Jehu,
Rapeman,
The Invisible,
Simply Red,
Blancmange,
Barbara Tucker,
Magma,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Section 25,
Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim.
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.