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 Fiji and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Manchester.
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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 B and Rakim to the funk 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All Sarah Menescal tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gian Franco Pienzio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Make Up record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marvin Gaye,
The Litter,
Mandrill,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Babytalk,
10cc,
The Black Dice,
Theoretical Girls,
Sight & Sound,
Trumans Water,
Black Flag,
Royal Trux,
Sugar Minott,
Dark Day,
Joy Division,
The Cramps,
Eric Copeland,
Cal Tjader,
Ken Boothe,
Crash Course in Science,
Y Pants,
Model 500,
Swell Maps,
Bush Tetras,
Tubeway Army,
Terry Callier,
Jeru the Damaja,
Johnny Osbourne,
Robert Hood,
Flash Fearless,
Thompson Twins,
Althea and Donna,
Kerri Chandler,
Black Pus,
Ice-T,
The American Breed,
Howard Jones,
Stiv Bators,
The Standells,
Jacob Miller,
Zapp,
Main Source,
Max Romeo,
Public Image Ltd.,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Sonny Sharrock,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Carl Craig,
Country Teasers,
Make Up,
The Beau Brummels,
Kaleidoscope,
The Cure,
Chris Corsano,
Amazonics,
Bobby Womack,
Cluster,
Sam Rivers,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
CMW,
The Martian, The Martian, The Martian, The Martian.
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.