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 Lithuania and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Byron Stingily to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Mandrill. All the underground hits.
All Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bootsy's Rubber Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 spring reverb and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Q65 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Connie Case,
Mars,
Rotary Connection,
Skaos,
Colin Newman,
Aural Exciters,
The Last Poets,
Eve St. Jones,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Sun Ra,
Althea and Donna,
Junior Murvin,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Mummies,
The Flesh Eaters,
Gil Scott Heron,
Peter & Gordon,
The New Christs,
Alice Coltrane,
Throbbing Gristle,
Faust,
Oneida,
cv313,
Cecil Taylor,
The Electric Prunes,
Crooked Eye,
Brick,
Wally Richardson,
Sällskapet,
Eurythmics,
Theoretical Girls,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Niagra,
The Fire Engines,
Mantronix,
Liliput,
Warren Ellis,
Rakim,
John Lydon,
Bobby Sherman,
Rekid,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Porter Ricks,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Techniques,
The Neon Judgement,
Dead Boys,
Inner City,
MDC,
The Offenders,
Glenn Branca,
The Durutti Column,
Archie Shepp,
Zapp,
Big Daddy Kane,
Lee Hazlewood,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Vogues,
The Grass Roots,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Michelle Simonal,
Simply Red,
Brass Construction,
Suburban Knight, Suburban Knight, Suburban Knight, Suburban Knight.
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.