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 South and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Robert Palmer 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 Fad Gadget to the grunge 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 The Birthday Party. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Metal Thangz 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Invisible,
Jeru the Damaja,
Sonny Sharrock,
Minny Pops,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Monks,
Model 500,
Pere Ubu,
The Slackers,
Kaleidoscope,
Ralphi Rosario,
Nick Fraelich,
EPMD,
Pharoah Sanders,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Eden Ahbez,
The Wake,
Brand Nubian,
Hoover,
Wasted Youth,
The Fall,
Eric Copeland,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Misunderstood,
Fad Gadget,
The Blues Magoos,
Pole,
U.S. Maple,
Second Layer,
The Selecter,
Yazoo,
FM Einheit,
Massinfluence,
Bob Dylan,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Quantec,
Infiniti,
Kenny Larkin,
Buzzcocks,
Sex Pistols,
Grauzone,
Sällskapet,
Lalo Schifrin,
Clear Light,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Nation of Ulysses,
Drive Like Jehu,
Malaria!,
Ultra Naté,
Mary Jane Girls,
Lee Hazlewood,
Anakelly,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Cure,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Warren Ellis,
Rakim,
Average White Band,
Rhythm & Sound,
Roxy Music,
PIL,
the Bar-Kays,
Banda Bassotti,
The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds.
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.