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 Moldova and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 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 Donald Byrd to the punk 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 Pharoah Sanders. All the underground hits.
All Boogie Down Productions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roy Ayers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 a harpsichord and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispy Ambulance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gabor Szabo,
Slave,
Y Pants,
Radiohead,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Cabaret Voltaire,
T.S.O.L.,
Monks,
Aural Exciters,
Blossom Toes,
OOIOO,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Pantytec,
The Durutti Column,
Byron Stingily,
Pharoah Sanders,
Nico,
Hasil Adkins,
The Kinks,
Toni Rubio,
Con Funk Shun,
Harry Pussy,
Lee Hazlewood,
Aaron Thompson,
Rapeman,
Drexciya,
Rites of Spring,
Shoche,
Laurel Aitken,
Quantec,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Moleskins,
Franke,
Public Enemy,
Bob Dylan,
Procol Harum,
Bobby Byrd,
Michelle Simonal,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Soul II Soul,
Pussy Galore,
Mary Jane Girls,
Intrusion,
June of 44,
Tears for Fears,
Eddi Front,
Kayak,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Index,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Nirvana,
Henry Cow,
Faraquet,
Niagra,
Barclay James Harvest,
Prince Buster,
Lightning Bolt,
Jeff Lynne,
World's Most, World's Most, World's Most, World's Most.
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.