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 Malta and from Jakarta.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Real Kids to the grime kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Scan 7 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ken Boothe 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Boredoms,
Cal Tjader,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
X-102,
Todd Terry,
La Düsseldorf,
The Last Poets,
Lungfish,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Residents,
AZ,
Los Fastidios,
MDC,
the Slits,
Index,
Section 25,
Depeche Mode,
Donny Hathaway,
Pagans,
Gil Scott Heron,
Joey Negro,
Curtis Mayfield,
B.T. Express,
Wings,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Raincoats,
Goldenarms,
Panda Bear,
The Gories,
Hardrive,
Loose Ends,
Sandy B,
The Mummies,
Lindisfarne,
Johnny Osbourne,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Arcadia,
Al Stewart,
Liliput,
the Normal,
Pere Ubu,
Boogie Down Productions,
Erasure,
Sällskapet,
The Move,
The Gun Club,
Sam Rivers,
Drexciya,
The Happenings,
The Vogues,
Judy Mowatt,
Wally Richardson,
Television Personalities,
Scan 7,
Eric Dolphy,
F. McDonald,
The Smoke,
Saccharine Trust,
U.S. Maple,
Ohio Players,
Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell.
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.