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 Senegal and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Philadelphia.
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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Neil Young to the crunk 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 Man Eating Sloth. All the underground hits.
All Marcia Griffiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angels of Light & Akron/Family record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tomorrow record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Boredoms,
Prince Buster,
The Misunderstood,
Cameo,
Alton Ellis,
Joyce Sims,
Ken Boothe,
Mandrill,
These Immortal Souls,
Cybotron,
Mark Hollis,
The Zeros,
T.S.O.L.,
Ronan,
Spandau Ballet,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ultravox,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Crooked Eye,
Kayak,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
48th St. Collective,
Gichy Dan,
Eric Copeland,
Eric B and Rakim,
Yusef Lateef,
Bill Near,
Matthew Halsall,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Pulsallama,
Peter and Kerry,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Albert Ayler,
Visage,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Morten Harket,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Letta Mbulu,
Janne Schatter,
Man Eating Sloth,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Bill Wells,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Hasil Adkins,
The Moody Blues,
The Divine Comedy,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Swans,
Quadrant,
Terry Callier,
The Dave Clark Five,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
R.M.O.,
Heaven 17,
Steve Hackett,
Mars,
Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh.
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.