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 Marshall Islands and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Siglo XX to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Donald Byrd. All the underground hits.
All Radiopuhelimet tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-102 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Piero Umiliani record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb 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,
New Order,
The Remains,
H. Thieme,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Offenders,
Aaron Thompson,
Bill Near,
Danielle Patucci,
Arthur Verocai,
DNA,
Yaz,
Robert Hood,
The Standells,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Fat Boys,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Severed Heads,
Sonic Youth,
Man Eating Sloth,
Steve Hackett,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Mojo Men,
Josef K,
Ossler,
Ornette Coleman,
Jawbox,
48th St. Collective,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Howard Jones,
Motorama,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Pole,
Eric B and Rakim,
Darondo,
Jacob Miller,
The Cure,
The Knickerbockers,
The New Christs,
Ultimate Spinach,
Kerri Chandler,
B.T. Express,
Scion,
Joyce Sims,
The Index,
Ultra Naté,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Sight & Sound,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Harry Pussy,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Skatalites,
Angry Samoans,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Raincoats,
Cecil Taylor,
This Heat,
Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader.
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.