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 Namibia and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Toronto.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Crispy Ambulance to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 The American Breed. All the underground hits.
All Soul II Soul tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sly & The Family Stone record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 clarinet and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Toasters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator 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 Pretty Things,
David McCallum,
Theoretical Girls,
Rapeman,
Das Ding,
Lucky Dragons,
Prince Buster,
Dark Day,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Fortunes,
Fat Boys,
The Five Americans,
June of 44,
Duran Duran,
Reagan Youth,
Young Marble Giants,
The Moody Blues,
Cameo,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Brick,
Iggy Pop,
Interpol,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Smiths,
These Immortal Souls,
Ultravox,
The Velvet Underground,
Whodini,
Ronan,
Monks,
New York Dolls,
The Divine Comedy,
Max Romeo,
Vladislav Delay,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Tremeloes,
Infiniti,
Agitation Free,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Soul II Soul,
Circle Jerks,
Saccharine Trust,
F. McDonald,
Icehouse,
Dennis Brown,
Sixth Finger,
Barrington Levy,
Stockholm Monsters,
the Human League,
Jacob Miller,
Electric Prunes,
Ronnie Foster,
Angry Samoans,
Lou Christie,
Lalo Schifrin,
Letta Mbulu,
Parry Music,
The Mummies,
Stiv Bators,
Negative Approach,
Jerry's Kids,
Terry Callier,
Kerrie Biddell, Kerrie Biddell, Kerrie Biddell, Kerrie Biddell.
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.