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 Uganda and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 chamberlin 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 Sixth Finger to the crunk 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 Fort Wilson Riot. All the underground hits.
All Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Prince Buster record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marmalade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Durutti Column,
Skriet,
Minnie Riperton,
Eve St. Jones,
Big Daddy Kane,
Supertramp,
Lalann,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Animal Collective,
Ten City,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Procol Harum,
Icehouse,
Faraquet,
Los Fastidios,
Reuben Wilson,
Al Stewart,
Wasted Youth,
Roy Ayers,
Surgeon,
The Doobie Brothers,
Vladislav Delay,
Little Man,
The Index,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
New Age Steppers,
Sugar Minott,
Electric Prunes,
James White and The Blacks,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Joe Finger,
Scott Walker,
June of 44,
Sarah Menescal,
the Human League,
Model 500,
Zero Boys,
Bauhaus,
Don Cherry,
Sparks,
Archie Shepp,
Intrusion,
Q and Not U,
Kas Product,
Joyce Sims,
Simply Red,
Michelle Simonal,
The Mojo Men,
Sällskapet,
Gang Green,
Kevin Saunderson,
Traffic Nightmare,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Dave Clark Five,
Thompson Twins,
Index,
Idris Muhammad,
Lower 48,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
the Germs, the Germs, the Germs, the Germs.
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.