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 Djibouti and from Copenhagen.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 mellotron 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 Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Magma. All the underground hits.
All Gian Franco Pienzio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Amazonics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s 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 Sun City Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Gang Green,
Grey Daturas,
The Barracudas,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Nils Olav,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Victims,
Soul II Soul,
Joensuu 1685,
L. Decosne,
X-Ray Spex,
Joy Division,
Jerry's Kids,
Dead Boys,
Nico,
Joe Smooth,
Scientists,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Grandmaster Flash,
Brothers Johnson,
The Young Rascals,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Sonic Youth,
Peter & Gordon,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Vogues,
Isaac Hayes,
China Crisis,
Crooked Eye,
Chris & Cosey,
The Blackbyrds,
Slave,
Graham Central Station,
R.M.O.,
Man Eating Sloth,
Lungfish,
Brass Construction,
Depeche Mode,
Pole,
Johnny Osbourne,
John Lydon,
Unwound,
Ohio Players,
Cheater Slicks,
Circle Jerks,
The Cramps,
Stereo Dub,
Procol Harum,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
June Days,
Groovy Waters,
The Beau Brummels,
Rekid,
Gong,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Deakin,
Newcleus,
Kaleidoscope,
Technova,
The Moleskins,
Rapeman,
Little Man,
The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones.
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.