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 Bahamas and from Madrid.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 organ 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 Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra to the funk 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 Faraquet. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Womack tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fire Engines,
Soft Machine,
The Move,
Rufus Thomas,
The Cowsills,
Suicide,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Joy Division,
The Trojans,
Ohio Players,
Trumans Water,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Roxy Music,
The Electric Prunes,
The Knickerbockers,
Faust,
Big Daddy Kane,
Supertramp,
Sällskapet,
Gang of Four,
Mary Jane Girls,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Slits,
Mantronix,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Smoke,
A Certain Ratio,
Todd Terry,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bad Manners,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Matthew Bourne,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Donny Hathaway,
Public Enemy,
Minnie Riperton,
Ultravox,
Crash Course in Science,
Visage,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Scan 7,
Janne Schatter,
Patti Smith,
The Victims,
Television,
X-Ray Spex,
Das Ding,
Henry Cow,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Easy Going,
Gregory Isaacs,
Los Fastidios,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Camouflage,
Althea and Donna,
Reagan Youth,
The Shadows of Knight,
Inner City,
F. McDonald,
Skriet,
ABC,
The Real Kids,
Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes.
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.