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 Belize 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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Zapp 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 The Last Poets. All the underground hits.
All Heavy D & The Boyz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispian St. Peters 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Sound record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Doors,
Eric B and Rakim,
Loose Ends,
Dead Boys,
The Buckinghams,
Al Stewart,
Piero Umiliani,
Talk Talk,
The Moody Blues,
Lou Christie,
Ten City,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Nirvana,
Drexciya,
Scan 7,
Wire,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Cymande,
The Wake,
The Mojo Men,
Hardrive,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Alton Ellis,
Lungfish,
Ronan,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Jeru the Damaja,
Crime,
Cecil Taylor,
Malaria!,
Basic Channel,
The Real Kids,
Sexual Harrassment,
Accadde A,
Big Daddy Kane,
Camberwell Now,
Bob Dylan,
Glenn Branca,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Harry Pussy,
Gabor Szabo,
Bluetip,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Bill Near,
B.T. Express,
Qualms,
Dorothy Ashby,
48th St. Collective,
The Blues Magoos,
Section 25,
China Crisis,
Tim Buckley,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Velvet Underground,
Country Joe & The Fish,
KRS-One,
Bootsy Collins,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Flash Fearless,
Nils Olav,
The Motions,
Television Personalities,
This Heat, This Heat, This Heat, This Heat.
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.