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 Uzbekistan and from Calgary.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Quantec to the electroclash 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 June of 44. All the underground hits.
All These Immortal Souls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marvin Gaye 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Aswad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
R.M.O.,
Man Parrish,
Brothers Johnson,
Con Funk Shun,
Excepter,
Boz Scaggs,
Desert Stars,
Gil Scott Heron,
Duran Duran,
Glenn Branca,
Roxette,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Angry Samoans,
Flash Fearless,
The Dead C,
The Standells,
Harmonia,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Ludus,
Sister Nancy,
Minny Pops,
The Move,
David McCallum,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Ronan,
Grey Daturas,
Malaria!,
Lee Hazlewood,
DJ Sneak,
K-Klass,
Leonard Cohen,
Terrestrial Tones,
Johnny Clarke,
The Slackers,
The Pop Group,
Lindisfarne,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Lungfish,
Pharoah Sanders,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
John Cale,
The Music Machine,
Delta 5,
Electric Prunes,
Gabor Szabo,
Cal Tjader,
the Swans,
David Axelrod,
The Dirtbombs,
Marc Almond,
Nas,
Mad Mike,
Circle Jerks,
The Cure,
Darondo,
the Bar-Kays,
Little Man,
Jawbox,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.