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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 güiro 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 Camouflage to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Bluetip. All the underground hits.
All Panda Bear tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kerrie Biddell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Blancmange record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Roy Ayers,
The Searchers,
Popol Vuh,
Bang On A Can,
Terrestrial Tones,
Electric Prunes,
New York Dolls,
Circle Jerks,
Von Mondo,
This Heat,
Amon Düül,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Cure,
Harpers Bizarre,
Derrick Morgan,
Tim Buckley,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Radio Birdman,
Pagans,
Grey Daturas,
Pole,
Fela Kuti,
The Moleskins,
Arthur Verocai,
Chris Corsano,
Amon Düül II,
OOIOO,
Little Man,
Vainqueur,
Ten City,
Young Marble Giants,
Donald Byrd,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
New Age Steppers,
Sex Pistols,
Anthony Braxton,
Japan,
Mary Jane Girls,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Crispian St. Peters,
Sandy B,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Eric Dolphy,
Leonard Cohen,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Rakim,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Faust,
Buzzcocks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Liliput,
Magazine,
Cameo,
The Knickerbockers,
Arab on Radar,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Warren Ellis,
Lower 48,
Ice-T,
Loose Ends, Loose Ends, Loose Ends, Loose Ends.
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.