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 Dominica and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 guitar 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 Kurtis Blow to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 United States of America. All the underground hits.
All Crispy Ambulance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Danielle Patucci record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Don Cherry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Procol Harum,
The Selecter,
Bobby Sherman,
Chris Corsano,
Ronnie Foster,
Gong,
The Wake,
The Searchers,
Peter and Kerry,
Young Marble Giants,
Ossler,
Pet Shop Boys,
Duran Duran,
Slave,
ABBA,
Inner City,
The Cure,
Boogie Down Productions,
the Human League,
Nico,
Reuben Wilson,
Marmalade,
Tomorrow,
One Last Wish,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Gang Green,
Franke,
Matthew Bourne,
Arcadia,
MC5,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Masters at Work,
This Heat,
Television,
Gabor Szabo,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Dirtbombs,
Second Layer,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Kerri Chandler,
Yellowson,
Josef K,
The Gories,
Erykah Badu,
Deepchord,
Al Stewart,
Dead Boys,
Nation of Ulysses,
Nirvana,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Doors,
Lower 48,
Iggy Pop,
Minny Pops,
Kurtis Blow,
Derrick May,
Robert Wyatt,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Gladiators,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Lucky Dragons,
Mr. Review,
Marine Girls,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.