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 Bolivia and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan to the rock 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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All The Doors tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Starr record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gladiators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fatback Band,
The Moleskins,
Kurtis Blow,
Half Japanese,
The Angels of Light,
The Dave Clark Five,
Thompson Twins,
Gang Starr,
The Gun Club,
Dorothy Ashby,
B.T. Express,
Kevin Saunderson,
Donny Hathaway,
Television Personalities,
Mad Mike,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Trojans,
Guru Guru,
In Retrospect,
Intrusion,
The Beau Brummels,
Lou Christie,
Joe Finger,
Livin' Joy,
Average White Band,
Wire,
Minny Pops,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Nils Olav,
Gang Gang Dance,
This Heat,
Buzzcocks,
Avey Tare,
Ituana,
Q and Not U,
Traffic Nightmare,
Chrome,
Andrew Hill,
The Names,
Popol Vuh,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Mighty Diamonds,
John Coltrane,
Maurizio,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Brass Construction,
Ken Boothe,
Minor Threat,
Tears for Fears,
Magazine,
David McCallum,
The Electric Prunes,
Crispian St. Peters,
Scott Walker,
Crispy Ambulance,
Angry Samoans,
The Busters,
Davy DMX,
Whodini,
Simply Red,
Lucky Dragons,
Nico,
Flash Fearless,
Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun.
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.