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 Botswana and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Minnie Riperton to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Henry Cow. All the underground hits.
All DeepChord presents Echospace tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mark Hollis 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masters at Work,
L. Decosne,
Drexciya,
Sister Nancy,
UT,
Popol Vuh,
The Move,
Roy Ayers,
Bluetip,
Brick,
Slick Rick,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Japan,
Mad Mike,
Mission of Burma,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Electric Prunes,
The Blackbyrds,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Saints,
Adolescents,
Donald Byrd,
Newcleus,
Jimmy McGriff,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Sex Pistols,
Dead Boys,
Y Pants,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Khruangbin,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Aswad,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Knickerbockers,
Glenn Branca,
Simply Red,
Country Teasers,
Excepter,
June Days,
Joe Finger,
Lou Reed,
Index,
Roxy Music,
The Alarm Clocks,
Scott Walker,
Tubeway Army,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Cybotron,
Pussy Galore,
The Names,
The Kinks,
Radio Birdman,
Heaven 17,
Steve Hackett,
The Modern Lovers,
Kas Product,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Boredoms,
The Misunderstood,
Grauzone,
Lungfish, Lungfish, Lungfish, Lungfish.
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.