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 Guatemala 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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the snare 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 Robert Wyatt to the techno 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 Radiopuhelimet. All the underground hits.
All Mary Jane Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Saints record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radio Birdman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Womack,
Freddie Wadling,
Robert Hood,
Mandrill,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Skarface,
Moebius,
Gang Green,
Masters at Work,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Jeff Lynne,
Funky Four + One,
The Walker Brothers,
Bobby Sherman,
Roger Hodgson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Tubeway Army,
Barbara Tucker,
Scrapy,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Thompson Twins,
Talk Talk,
Aswad,
Angry Samoans,
The Fall,
Zapp,
These Immortal Souls,
Ponytail,
Peter & Gordon,
The Pop Group,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Kool Moe Dee,
Albert Ayler,
Black Pus,
B.T. Express,
Massinfluence,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Pylon,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Josef K,
Underground Resistance,
The Cure,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Amon Düül II,
Eddi Front,
Motorama,
Nick Fraelich,
The Flesh Eaters,
Main Source,
Barry Ungar,
Loose Ends,
Rufus Thomas,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Quando Quango,
The Cramps,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Goldenarms,
Prince Buster,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Rosa Yemen,
The Black Dice, The Black Dice, The Black Dice, The Black Dice.
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.