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 Morocco and from Calgary.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Angry Samoans to the grunge 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 Traffic Nightmare. All the underground hits.
All Camouflage tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Amazonics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 oboe and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Judy Mowatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Anthony Braxton,
Bad Manners,
cv313,
Spoonie Gee,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Pulsallama,
Television,
Eve St. Jones,
B.T. Express,
Radio Birdman,
Ponytail,
The Velvet Underground,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Ronnie Foster,
Terrestrial Tones,
Intrusion,
Thee Headcoats,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Magma,
Ohio Players,
the Soft Cell,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Don Cherry,
The Shadows of Knight,
Terry Callier,
Brand Nubian,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Talk Talk,
Bill Wells,
Deakin,
Brick,
Delon & Dalcan,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Harpers Bizarre,
Neu!,
The Residents,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Aloha Tigers,
Curtis Mayfield,
Derrick Morgan,
Be Bop Deluxe,
a-ha,
Sällskapet,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Smiths,
Erykah Badu,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Nick Fraelich,
The Move,
Vladislav Delay,
Minny Pops,
Negative Approach,
Desert Stars,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Moby Grape,
Cecil Taylor,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Yellowson, Yellowson, Yellowson, Yellowson.
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.