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 Guinea-Bissau and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the rhodes 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 This Heat to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Kings Of Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All Flash Fearless tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oppenheimer Analysis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radio Birdman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
Trumans Water,
Bush Tetras,
Amon Düül,
Sugar Minott,
Agent Orange,
Siglo XX,
Franke,
Brothers Johnson,
Fat Boys,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Average White Band,
Shuggie Otis,
Lyres,
Funky Four + One,
Rapeman,
Radio Birdman,
Bang On A Can,
Fatback Band,
Harmonia,
Wolf Eyes,
Deepchord,
ABC,
The Index,
The Raincoats,
a-ha,
Dawn Penn,
Yusef Lateef,
Rites of Spring,
Barclay James Harvest,
L. Decosne,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Public Image Ltd.,
the Human League,
Ice-T,
Surgeon,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Panda Bear,
Metal Thangz,
Man Parrish,
June of 44,
Hardrive,
Michelle Simonal,
Ultra Naté,
Eddi Front,
Arcadia,
Buzzcocks,
Bobby Hutcherson,
John Holt,
Second Layer,
The Slackers,
X-101,
Ossler,
Pulsallama,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Sound Behaviour,
The Sound,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Soulsonic Force,
Slave,
Shoche,
John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon.
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.