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 Honduras and from Milan.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Interpol to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Crash Course in Science. All the underground hits.
All Johnny Clarke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Malaria! 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joe Smooth,
The Real Kids,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Knickerbockers,
Joe Finger,
Rufus Thomas,
Danielle Patucci,
Average White Band,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Andrew Hill,
Man Parrish,
Rotary Connection,
The Slits,
Brand Nubian,
Kayak,
The Beau Brummels,
Sarah Menescal,
EPMD,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Buzzcocks,
Simply Red,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Talk Talk,
The Barracudas,
The Divine Comedy,
Warsaw,
Pharoah Sanders,
Jawbox,
Gabor Szabo,
Suburban Knight,
Q and Not U,
Bill Near,
The Selecter,
The Smiths,
The Misunderstood,
Parry Music,
Lindisfarne,
Dawn Penn,
Gil Scott Heron,
Dark Day,
The Litter,
Idris Muhammad,
L. Decosne,
Little Man,
Sandy B,
New Age Steppers,
Index,
The Star Department,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Colin Newman,
Metal Thangz,
D'Angelo,
Judy Mowatt,
Sex Pistols,
Unrelated Segments,
The Slackers,
Al Stewart,
Ultravox,
Stockholm Monsters,
Lungfish,
Echospace,
The Offenders,
Monks,
The Sonics, The Sonics, The Sonics, The Sonics.
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.