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 Paraguay and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 The Mummies to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Thee Headcoats. All the underground hits.
All Simply Red tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Das Ding 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brothers Johnson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Reagan Youth,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Mummies,
The Tremeloes,
Gang Starr,
Silicon Teens,
Sixth Finger,
Groovy Waters,
The Raincoats,
The Slackers,
Cluster,
Ten City,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Stiv Bators,
Bang On A Can,
The Cowsills,
John Holt,
Mission of Burma,
Arthur Verocai,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Wally Richardson,
The Fall,
The Gories,
Masters at Work,
Ornette Coleman,
Country Teasers,
Rapeman,
CMW,
Ken Boothe,
Idris Muhammad,
the Germs,
Bluetip,
This Heat,
Mr. Review,
Kerri Chandler,
Cal Tjader,
Delta 5,
New Age Steppers,
Marcia Griffiths,
Ronan,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Barracudas,
Maurizio,
Gerry Rafferty,
Technova,
The Happenings,
Symarip,
the Swans,
Nas,
The Moody Blues,
Vainqueur,
Tres Demented,
Depeche Mode,
Electric Prunes,
Harry Pussy,
the Fania All-Stars,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Public Enemy,
Nils Olav,
Con Funk Shun,
Cheater Slicks,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
David Axelrod,
Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry.
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.