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 Slovenia and from Bremen.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Radiohead to the crunk 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 Public Enemy. All the underground hits.
All Anthony Braxton tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barry Ungar,
Boogie Down Productions,
Godley & Creme,
Juan Atkins,
F. McDonald,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Roxy Music,
Ultra Naté,
Alison Limerick,
Rakim,
Qualms,
Todd Rundgren,
Sexual Harrassment,
Radio Birdman,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Skaos,
Massinfluence,
Yazoo,
Roxette,
The Associates,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Ornette Coleman,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
the Normal,
The Selecter,
Chrome,
Rites of Spring,
Joe Finger,
Unrelated Segments,
Los Fastidios,
Junior Murvin,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Whodini,
The Cowsills,
L. Decosne,
Pole,
Hashim,
Reuben Wilson,
Spoonie Gee,
Arab on Radar,
Circle Jerks,
Khruangbin,
Jeff Mills,
The J.B.'s,
Henry Cow,
Thee Headcoats,
Lee Hazlewood,
Donald Byrd,
Royal Trux,
Hoover,
Cal Tjader,
Crash Course in Science,
Shoche,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Guru Guru,
Gang Starr,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Bobby Byrd,
The Offenders,
Eurythmics, Eurythmics, Eurythmics, Eurythmics.
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.