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 Sierra Leone and from Edmonton.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines to the techno 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 Das Ding. All the underground hits.
All Althea and Donna tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flash Fearless record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 linndrum and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Judy Mowatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Junior Murvin,
Byron Stingily,
Crispy Ambulance,
Arthur Verocai,
Peter and Kerry,
Wally Richardson,
Wings,
The Cure,
Sexual Harrassment,
Malaria!,
Minor Threat,
The Martian,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Moebius,
The Move,
The Searchers,
Cheater Slicks,
the Sonics,
Glenn Branca,
Con Funk Shun,
Agent Orange,
Smog,
Schoolly D,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Fortunes,
Mantronix,
Morten Harket,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Detroit Cobras,
John Lydon,
Bill Near,
Eddi Front,
Bobby Byrd,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Nation of Ulysses,
Flamin' Groovies,
Gang Green,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Black Dice,
Rufus Thomas,
Yazoo,
Lungfish,
Nick Fraelich,
Gichy Dan,
Ken Boothe,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Half Japanese,
Motorama,
X-101,
Eden Ahbez,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Stooges,
The Fugs,
The Slits,
Jesper Dahlback,
Minnie Riperton,
Grandmaster Flash,
Subhumans,
Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu.
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.