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 Eritrea and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 harpsichord 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 The Monks to the electroclash 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 Funkadelic. All the underground hits.
All Spoonie Gee tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Harry Pussy,
a-ha,
Fear,
Warsaw,
A Certain Ratio,
Radio Birdman,
Boredoms,
The Cure,
Barclay James Harvest,
Fela Kuti,
Youth Brigade,
Eddi Front,
Desert Stars,
Scratch Acid,
FM Einheit,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Index,
The Busters,
Jeff Mills,
Kaleidoscope,
The Young Rascals,
Clear Light,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Scion,
The Associates,
Mandrill,
Rekid,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Lyres,
Kurtis Blow,
Eric Copeland,
The Residents,
Y Pants,
The Dirtbombs,
Darondo,
The Moleskins,
Technova,
Jerry's Kids,
CMW,
DNA,
Pharoah Sanders,
ABC,
Jimmy McGriff,
Stetsasonic,
The Misunderstood,
Ossler,
Chrome,
Morten Harket,
Leonard Cohen,
Erykah Badu,
Television,
The Pretty Things,
The Stooges,
Niagra,
The Electric Prunes,
Gang Gang Dance,
the Association,
Scott Walker,
Johnny Clarke,
The Red Krayola,
Visage, Visage, Visage, Visage.
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.