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 Comoros and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin 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 Sister Nancy to the punk 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 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. All the underground hits.
All Gastr Del Sol tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobbi Humphrey record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Alphaville,
The Motions,
The Selecter,
The Real Kids,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Zeros,
Moby Grape,
Masters at Work,
UT,
Ossler,
Flamin' Groovies,
Pere Ubu,
kango's stein massive,
Cameo,
Joensuu 1685,
Saccharine Trust,
Bad Manners,
The Tremeloes,
Mars,
B.T. Express,
Robert Wyatt,
Trumans Water,
Sugar Minott,
Monks,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Flesh Eaters,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Gastr Del Sol,
Guru Guru,
Ituana,
Wasted Youth,
The Trojans,
Accadde A,
Rapeman,
Sonic Youth,
Spandau Ballet,
Ludus,
Silicon Teens,
The Gun Club,
Carl Craig,
David McCallum,
Cybotron,
Drive Like Jehu,
Ken Boothe,
EPMD,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Walker Brothers,
Reuben Wilson,
Warsaw,
Sandy B,
Joe Finger,
Fela Kuti,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Human League,
Animal Collective,
Glambeats Corp.,
ABC,
Sam Rivers,
Fatback Band,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.