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 Venezuela and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in 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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Manchester.
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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Eric B and Rakim to the disco kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Crispy Ambulance. All the underground hits.
All Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every ABC 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a World's Most record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Don Cherry,
The Offenders,
Goldenarms,
Skarface,
Motorama,
8 Eyed Spy,
Desert Stars,
Sam Rivers,
The Martian,
Pere Ubu,
Ronnie Foster,
Johnny Clarke,
Maurizio,
Easy Going,
The Human League,
Tubeway Army,
Technova,
Wally Richardson,
Erykah Badu,
Quando Quango,
The Selecter,
Warren Ellis,
Albert Ayler,
Swans,
One Last Wish,
Barrington Levy,
Rites of Spring,
Gang of Four,
X-101,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Livin' Joy,
Crime,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Underground Resistance,
Fela Kuti,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Man Parrish,
Stiv Bators,
Angry Samoans,
The Fire Engines,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Minnie Riperton,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Evens,
The Sound,
Lyres,
Mo-Dettes,
Michelle Simonal,
Cameo,
Radiopuhelimet,
Donald Byrd,
The Victims,
Girls At Our Best!,
Unrelated Segments,
Hoover,
Spandau Ballet,
Jawbox,
Intrusion,
Susan Cadogan,
Max Romeo, Max Romeo, Max Romeo, Max Romeo.
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.