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 Guinea-Bissau and from Mumbai.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Tehran.
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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the clarinet 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 The Slits to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Echo & the Bunnymen. All the underground hits.
All Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeff Mills 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Khruangbin,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Invisible,
Avey Tare,
Lalann,
Freddie Wadling,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Howard Jones,
Rites of Spring,
Stiv Bators,
The American Breed,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Todd Terry,
Kas Product,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Black Bananas,
The Real Kids,
K-Klass,
Country Teasers,
Swell Maps,
D'Angelo,
New Age Steppers,
Matthew Bourne,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Bad Manners,
Oblivians,
Yellowson,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Moss Icon,
Tears for Fears,
The Zeros,
Sugar Minott,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Slits,
Massinfluence,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Inner City,
Lou Christie,
Mad Mike,
Ituana,
Outsiders,
Traffic Nightmare,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Anakelly,
Desert Stars,
Smog,
Kurtis Blow,
Arthur Verocai,
Das Ding,
Agent Orange,
The Seeds,
Accadde A,
Dorothy Ashby,
Ponytail,
Zapp,
Monks,
Bush Tetras,
Niagra,
Tres Demented,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Blackbyrds,
The Electric Prunes,
Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian.
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.