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 Morocco and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the organ 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 FM Einheit to the grime 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 Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grey Daturas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 chamberlin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The American Breed,
Scratch Acid,
The Raincoats,
Arab on Radar,
The Slits,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Monks,
Albert Ayler,
Faraquet,
Connie Case,
Bootsy Collins,
Josef K,
The Buckinghams,
Jacques Brel,
Aloha Tigers,
Bad Manners,
Black Sheep,
Bobby Womack,
Bobby Sherman,
Max Romeo,
John Lydon,
Swell Maps,
Hardrive,
Lee Hazlewood,
One Last Wish,
The United States of America,
The Doobie Brothers,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Masters at Work,
Nico,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Tremeloes,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Negative Approach,
Dark Day,
Charles Mingus,
Skriet,
Derrick May,
Jerry's Kids,
The Vogues,
Urselle,
These Immortal Souls,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Sound,
Vainqueur,
The Sisters of Mercy,
China Crisis,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Animal Collective,
Lyres,
Main Source,
Tommy Roe,
Interpol,
Skaos,
Liliput,
Aural Exciters,
Newcleus,
Crispy Ambulance,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Remains,
The Names,
T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L..
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.