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 Bangladesh and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Joyce Sims to the funk 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 The Flesh Eaters. All the underground hits.
All The Tremeloes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scratch Acid record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Vainqueur,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Stiv Bators,
Dark Day,
Albert Ayler,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gang Starr,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Dirtbombs,
David McCallum,
John Coltrane,
Animal Collective,
Ossler,
The Black Dice,
The Cure,
Los Fastidios,
Sam Rivers,
Severed Heads,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Index,
Cameo,
The Standells,
Saccharine Trust,
the Sonics,
Masters at Work,
Schoolly D,
Man Eating Sloth,
Siglo XX,
Boz Scaggs,
The Grass Roots,
Barrington Levy,
Idris Muhammad,
Davy DMX,
Lalann,
The Moody Blues,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Massinfluence,
Subhumans,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Harmonia,
Country Teasers,
Alphaville,
Dual Sessions,
Radiopuhelimet,
Soft Machine,
Mission of Burma,
Eve St. Jones,
David Bowie,
Howard Jones,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Wake,
Talk Talk,
Grauzone,
The Monks,
The Flesh Eaters,
Bootsy Collins,
Rufus Thomas,
Kas Product,
The Red Krayola,
The Searchers,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.