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 Korea North and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 mellotron 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 Grandmaster Flash to the rap 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 Dorothy Ashby. All the underground hits.
All Ken Boothe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Remains record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barclay James Harvest record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Zeros,
X-101,
Pussy Galore,
Das Ding,
Todd Rundgren,
Oblivians,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Minny Pops,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Pharoah Sanders,
Lyres,
Eli Mardock,
Hasil Adkins,
Magma,
Throbbing Gristle,
Danielle Patucci,
The Divine Comedy,
Grauzone,
The Kinks,
Man Parrish,
Unwound,
Monks,
Lightning Bolt,
Susan Cadogan,
Crash Course in Science,
Neu!,
Hardrive,
Mandrill,
A Certain Ratio,
Eric B and Rakim,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Ultra Naté,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
DNA,
The Slits,
Simply Red,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Black Dice,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Mad Mike,
The Selecter,
Schoolly D,
Howard Jones,
Skaos,
Hot Snakes,
Aural Exciters,
Nico,
Jacques Brel,
The Associates,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Moby Grape,
Duran Duran,
Donald Byrd,
June of 44,
Cybotron,
The Angels of Light,
Arcadia,
JFA, JFA, JFA, JFA.
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.