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 Belarus and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Wings to the jazz kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All Ornette Coleman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Donald Byrd record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Inner City record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scion,
Crime,
Crispy Ambulance,
48th St. Collective,
John Holt,
Smog,
Barclay James Harvest,
Jimmy McGriff,
Das Ding,
The New Christs,
Rekid,
R.M.O.,
Aloha Tigers,
Davy DMX,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Mark Hollis,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Minnie Riperton,
Robert Hood,
Stiv Bators,
Fatback Band,
Chrome,
Big Daddy Kane,
Average White Band,
Blossom Toes,
Rakim,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Flipper,
the Germs,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Buckinghams,
Ronnie Foster,
Monks,
Arthur Verocai,
Reagan Youth,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Durutti Column,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Angels of Light,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Dorothy Ashby,
David Bowie,
This Heat,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Q and Not U,
Iggy Pop,
Erasure,
The United States of America,
Royal Trux,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Joy Division,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Index,
Stockholm Monsters,
Deepchord,
The Raincoats,
Popol Vuh,
Carl Craig,
Minor Threat,
the Fania All-Stars,
Echospace,
Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy.
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.