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 Czech Republic and from Paris.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the oboe 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 Curtis Mayfield to the jazz 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 Anthony Braxton. All the underground hits.
All Lightning Bolt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rosa Yemen 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slits,
Niagra,
Barbara Tucker,
The Red Krayola,
Jerry's Kids,
Johnny Clarke,
Matthew Halsall,
Lou Christie,
Babytalk,
The Black Dice,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Standells,
Sandy B,
Gastr Del Sol,
Pantytec,
Barclay James Harvest,
X-102,
Eurythmics,
Fad Gadget,
Jeff Lynne,
Minny Pops,
Tropical Tobacco,
Slave,
Surgeon,
Ultra Naté,
The Buckinghams,
Big Daddy Kane,
Ronan,
Zapp,
Bill Near,
Neu!,
Hot Snakes,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Livin' Joy,
Hasil Adkins,
Schoolly D,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Davy DMX,
Vladislav Delay,
Bush Tetras,
Graham Central Station,
Suicide,
The Invisible,
Dark Day,
Glenn Branca,
Robert Hood,
Section 25,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Rapeman,
Simply Red,
Camouflage,
Byron Stingily,
Soul II Soul,
Parry Music,
Ituana,
Be Bop Deluxe,
the Normal,
Don Cherry,
Con Funk Shun,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The American Breed,
Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip.
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.