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 Spain and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Paris.
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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Man Eating Sloth to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Desert Stars. All the underground hits.
All the Germs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Smiths 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nirvana record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
Howard Jones,
Malaria!,
Joe Finger,
Moby Grape,
Blancmange,
Harry Pussy,
Parry Music,
Susan Cadogan,
Siglo XX,
Ronnie Foster,
Surgeon,
Eric B and Rakim,
China Crisis,
The Flesh Eaters,
Dennis Brown,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Quando Quango,
Jeru the Damaja,
Gang of Four,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Aaron Thompson,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Dual Sessions,
Joey Negro,
Albert Ayler,
Anakelly,
Amon Düül II,
Tomorrow,
Unrelated Segments,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Durutti Column,
Altered Images,
Soft Machine,
Alice Coltrane,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Cybotron,
Electric Light Orchestra,
8 Eyed Spy,
Pet Shop Boys,
Mad Mike,
DNA,
John Foxx,
Pylon,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Blossom Toes,
the Normal,
Wolf Eyes,
Jerry's Kids,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Gichy Dan,
Schoolly D,
Little Man,
Inner City,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Tears for Fears,
Gerry Rafferty,
Patti Smith,
DJ Style,
The Gladiators,
Boz Scaggs,
Blake Baxter,
The Slits,
The Red Krayola,
Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon.
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.