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 Solomon Islands and from Spokane.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 synthesizer 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock to the disco 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 Michelle Simonal. All the underground hits.
All Eve St. Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marine Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Green record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Names,
Robert Wyatt,
The Victims,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Soul Sonic Force,
Magazine,
Drexciya,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Smoke,
These Immortal Souls,
Main Source,
Sun Ra,
Liliput,
The Cure,
Panda Bear,
Japan,
Bob Dylan,
Ohio Players,
Lungfish,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Man Eating Sloth,
The J.B.'s,
Sound Behaviour,
The Cramps,
Marvin Gaye,
Minny Pops,
Althea and Donna,
Los Fastidios,
Deakin,
Stereo Dub,
Audionom,
Country Teasers,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Spoonie Gee,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Young Rascals,
The Buckinghams,
Nas,
Circle Jerks,
Make Up,
Aloha Tigers,
Boz Scaggs,
Pussy Galore,
Davy DMX,
Sexual Harrassment,
Lou Christie,
The Durutti Column,
Grey Daturas,
Alton Ellis,
Robert Görl,
Kerri Chandler,
the Human League,
UT,
Siglo XX,
Rhythm & Sound,
Suburban Knight,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Ken Boothe,
Public Image Ltd.,
L. Decosne,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Tropical Tobacco,
Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson.
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.