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 Bulgaria and from Calgary.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the oboe 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 These Immortal Souls to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Sam Rivers. All the underground hits.
All Amazonics tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cecil Taylor 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bluetip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tropical Tobacco,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
John Cale,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Dead Boys,
The Durutti Column,
The Litter,
Bush Tetras,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Motions,
Scratch Acid,
Funkadelic,
Arab on Radar,
Mission of Burma,
The Monks,
Black Pus,
Marvin Gaye,
Oneida,
AZ,
Jacques Brel,
B.T. Express,
Howard Jones,
Nik Kershaw,
Ralphi Rosario,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Angels of Light,
Yaz,
Agent Orange,
Mars,
Yusef Lateef,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Saints,
The Pop Group,
Robert Hood,
Cymande,
Surgeon,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Ken Boothe,
Franke,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Sonics,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Lee Hazlewood,
Black Sheep,
Black Flag,
Archie Shepp,
Ice-T,
La Düsseldorf,
DNA,
Malaria!,
Alton Ellis,
Ten City,
Godley & Creme,
The Electric Prunes,
A Certain Ratio,
Anthony Braxton,
the Germs,
Jeff Lynne,
Yazoo,
Panda Bear,
Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox.
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.