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 St Kitts & Nevis and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Carl Craig to the punk 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 Grandmaster Flash. All the underground hits.
All One Last Wish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cowsills record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Kinks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
Monolake,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Piero Umiliani,
Nas,
Tres Demented,
Hardrive,
Cybotron,
Buzzcocks,
Crispian St. Peters,
Stiv Bators,
Rhythm & Sound,
Japan,
R.M.O.,
Throbbing Gristle,
Bauhaus,
Ponytail,
Charles Mingus,
Sällskapet,
Ultravox,
Fela Kuti,
Neu!,
Infiniti,
Lyres,
Crispy Ambulance,
Skaos,
Oblivians,
Crooked Eye,
Procol Harum,
The Cramps,
Blancmange,
Unrelated Segments,
Nik Kershaw,
Boredoms,
Andrew Hill,
Sex Pistols,
Mad Mike,
Groovy Waters,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Searchers,
John Holt,
Bad Manners,
The Flesh Eaters,
Terry Callier,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Fugs,
This Heat,
The Alarm Clocks,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Jimmy McGriff,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Move,
Young Marble Giants,
June of 44,
Dawn Penn,
Harry Pussy,
Quadrant,
Spoonie Gee,
Camouflage,
The American Breed,
Royal Trux,
Maleditus Sound,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.