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 Lithuania and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 L. Decosne to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth. All the underground hits.
All Khruangbin tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sparks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Bananas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Newcleus,
The Young Rascals,
Silicon Teens,
Terrestrial Tones,
Grauzone,
E-Dancer,
Blossom Toes,
Tomorrow,
The Durutti Column,
Flipper,
Maurizio,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Magazine,
Traffic Nightmare,
Technova,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Hashim,
Lyres,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Real Kids,
John Cale,
Robert Görl,
Nik Kershaw,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Slave,
JFA,
The Monks,
The Busters,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
John Holt,
Jeff Lynne,
Fatback Band,
The Toasters,
Soulsonic Force,
Eli Mardock,
Hot Snakes,
Ituana,
Aaron Thompson,
Chris & Cosey,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Moebius,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Black Pus,
Circle Jerks,
Nils Olav,
The Sound,
Graham Central Station,
The Blues Magoos,
The Offenders,
Yellowson,
Faust,
Ken Boothe,
Joyce Sims,
Rakim,
Tres Demented,
Kerrie Biddell,
Surgeon,
Babytalk,
Oneida,
In Retrospect,
Soul Sonic Force,
James White and The Blacks,
Con Funk Shun,
Chrome, Chrome, Chrome, Chrome.
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.