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 Kyrgyzstan and from Mumbai.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 U.S. Maple to the disco 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 Amazonics. All the underground hits.
All N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Wake record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Maurizio 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?
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Boz Scaggs,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Sexual Harrassment,
Man Eating Sloth,
Young Marble Giants,
Suicide,
The Black Dice,
The Fire Engines,
Eurythmics,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Lalann,
Boredoms,
Absolute Body Control,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Roxy Music,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Popol Vuh,
X-101,
Donny Hathaway,
Reuben Wilson,
Bluetip,
Cheater Slicks,
The Remains,
Tres Demented,
T.S.O.L.,
Rakim,
Erykah Badu,
Terrestrial Tones,
Barbara Tucker,
Lebanon Hanover,
Minutemen,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Marcia Griffiths,
Dorothy Ashby,
Sparks,
Minny Pops,
Sarah Menescal,
Skriet,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Jawbox,
Fatback Band,
Roxette,
Roger Hodgson,
Franke,
E-Dancer,
Television Personalities,
Vainqueur,
Glambeats Corp.,
Morten Harket,
Wasted Youth,
Don Cherry,
a-ha,
The Tremeloes,
Accadde A,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Frankie Knuckles,
Isaac Hayes,
Icehouse,
Technova,
Reagan Youth,
Sixth Finger,
Mad Mike,
Kayak, Kayak, Kayak, Kayak.
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.