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 Samoa and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Glambeats Corp. to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Hardrive tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mission of Burma 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 clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rhythm & Sound record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cymande,
Make Up,
Rakim,
OOIOO,
Tres Demented,
Section 25,
Black Pus,
The Slackers,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Drexciya,
The Saints,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Con Funk Shun,
Nils Olav,
Bobby Womack,
Roy Ayers,
Sandy B,
Pulsallama,
MC5,
the Germs,
The Music Machine,
Kerrie Biddell,
Electric Prunes,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The American Breed,
Wally Richardson,
New York Dolls,
Reuben Wilson,
Symarip,
Sun City Girls,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Suicide,
Marine Girls,
Gang of Four,
Pantytec,
Eddi Front,
Davy DMX,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Junior Murvin,
Scrapy,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Vainqueur,
Clear Light,
Bizarre Inc.,
Royal Trux,
Ultimate Spinach,
Harpers Bizarre,
Desert Stars,
The Leaves,
Peter & Gordon,
8 Eyed Spy,
ABC,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Sam Rivers,
Ten City,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Sight & Sound,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Swell Maps,
Visage,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane, Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane, Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane, Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane.
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.