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 Dominican Republic and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 chamberlin 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 Fatback Band to the funk 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 Selector Dub Narcotic. All the underground hits.
All Richard Hell and the Voidoids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cameo 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Maurizio record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Alice Coltrane,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Y Pants,
Newcleus,
Gichy Dan,
Porter Ricks,
Henry Cow,
Theoretical Girls,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Soft Machine,
Organ,
Joe Finger,
Cal Tjader,
Fad Gadget,
Don Cherry,
Arab on Radar,
Big Daddy Kane,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Al Stewart,
Wire,
Second Layer,
The Grass Roots,
Ultra Naté,
Deakin,
Alton Ellis,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
David Bowie,
Dave Gahan,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Star Department,
Yellowson,
Fluxion,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Curtis Mayfield,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Toasters,
ABBA,
Barbara Tucker,
Juan Atkins,
Little Man,
Jawbox,
Morten Harket,
Terrestrial Tones,
Q and Not U,
Oneida,
Amazonics,
New York Dolls,
Brothers Johnson,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Beau Brummels,
Robert Wyatt,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Vogues,
The Fire Engines,
Scan 7,
Donald Byrd,
The Gladiators,
The Stooges,
Nils Olav,
Mars, Mars, Mars, Mars.
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.