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 Chile and from Bologna.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 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 Eddi Front to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Magazine. All the underground hits.
All The Slits tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Manfred Mann's Earth Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Faust,
Surgeon,
Mad Mike,
The Dead C,
Ornette Coleman,
The Invisible,
One Last Wish,
Cal Tjader,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sällskapet,
Wally Richardson,
Andrew Hill,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bush Tetras,
Barrington Levy,
Wasted Youth,
Unrelated Segments,
the Bar-Kays,
Scrapy,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
X-Ray Spex,
Bobby Byrd,
Ossler,
Danielle Patucci,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Livin' Joy,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Traffic Nightmare,
The New Christs,
June Days,
X-101,
Sandy B,
John Cale,
The Five Americans,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Henry Cow,
Mo-Dettes,
Von Mondo,
8 Eyed Spy,
CMW,
Barbara Tucker,
Shuggie Otis,
Pierre Henry,
Roger Hodgson,
Crispy Ambulance,
Jeff Lynne,
Scott Walker,
KRS-One,
The Offenders,
Royal Trux,
The Busters,
L. Decosne,
Clear Light,
The Kinks,
Joe Finger,
The Flesh Eaters,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Flamin' Groovies,
Tim Buckley,
Zapp,
Gabor Szabo,
ABC,
Howard Jones,
Public Image Ltd.,
Alton Ellis, Alton Ellis, Alton Ellis, Alton Ellis.
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.