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 Djibouti and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe 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 Girls At Our Best! to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Trumans Water. All the underground hits.
All Slave tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bootsy's Rubber Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Bush Tetras,
Susan Cadogan,
Cal Tjader,
Sandy B,
The Tremeloes,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Terry Callier,
Gil Scott Heron,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Fad Gadget,
The Cowsills,
Sex Pistols,
Thompson Twins,
Mandrill,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Amon Düül,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Golliwogs,
the Fania All-Stars,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Jesper Dahlback,
a-ha,
Bobby Byrd,
Siglo XX,
Quantec,
The Evens,
Pussy Galore,
Kevin Saunderson,
Dave Gahan,
The Stooges,
ABBA,
Eurythmics,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The United States of America,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Sonics,
Scott Walker,
Eric Copeland,
Brothers Johnson,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Mad Mike,
Stiv Bators,
Cecil Taylor,
Blancmange,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
T.S.O.L.,
the Sonics,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Lightning Bolt,
Erykah Badu,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Black Sheep,
Fear,
Dawn Penn,
Section 25,
Sugar Minott,
Pantytec,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
In Retrospect,
Hoover,
Faust,
Gang Starr, Gang Starr, Gang Starr, Gang Starr.
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.