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 Brunei and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 B.T. Express 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 John Foxx. All the underground hits.
All Adolescents tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Fania All-Stars record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 clarinet and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cal Tjader record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Beasts of Bourbon,
Rod Modell,
Angry Samoans,
Hasil Adkins,
Erasure,
The Detroit Cobras,
Banda Bassotti,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Robert Wyatt,
Roger Hodgson,
Stiv Bators,
a-ha,
The Gap Band,
Absolute Body Control,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Swell Maps,
Rites of Spring,
Gang Starr,
Joe Smooth,
Yusef Lateef,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Skatalites,
The Gladiators,
The Slits,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Arthur Verocai,
Vainqueur,
The Tremeloes,
The Residents,
ABC,
Liliput,
Mission of Burma,
Eli Mardock,
The Monochrome Set,
Stetsasonic,
Funkadelic,
Au Pairs,
Franke,
Monolake,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
the Swans,
The Dead C,
Con Funk Shun,
Suburban Knight,
Japan,
In Retrospect,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Procol Harum,
The Busters,
June of 44,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Tears for Fears,
Black Sheep,
Henry Cow,
The Blues Magoos,
Zapp,
Idris Muhammad,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The United States of America,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Doors,
Flipper,
The Raincoats,
Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones.
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.