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 Kosovo and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Cameo to the grunge 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 Malaria!. All the underground hits.
All Amazonics tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Connie Case record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Byron Stingily record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ten City,
The Music Machine,
Donny Hathaway,
Pantytec,
The Birthday Party,
the Normal,
Malaria!,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Golliwogs,
Gerry Rafferty,
Flipper,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Mission of Burma,
Franke,
Nils Olav,
Suburban Knight,
Erykah Badu,
Underground Resistance,
Loose Ends,
Circle Jerks,
Scientists,
Minny Pops,
Dawn Penn,
Warren Ellis,
Angry Samoans,
Brand Nubian,
Half Japanese,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Zero Boys,
The J.B.'s,
CMW,
Chris & Cosey,
Terry Callier,
The Real Kids,
T. Rex,
Surgeon,
Judy Mowatt,
David Axelrod,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Gladiators,
Niagra,
The Red Krayola,
Minnie Riperton,
The Smoke,
Arthur Verocai,
The Electric Prunes,
Faraquet,
The Kinks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Stockholm Monsters,
Byron Stingily,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Matthew Halsall,
Spoonie Gee,
Sonny Sharrock,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Mojo Men,
Steve Hackett,
The Sound, The Sound, The Sound, The Sound.
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.