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 South Africa and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the theremin 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Blackbyrds. All the underground hits.
All Alison Limerick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sister Nancy,
Rites of Spring,
Michelle Simonal,
Adolescents,
the Fania All-Stars,
Gang Starr,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Pussy Galore,
The Saints,
Godley & Creme,
Eric Dolphy,
Radio Birdman,
Camouflage,
The Busters,
Ronan,
The Vogues,
Crispian St. Peters,
Nas,
The Selecter,
Au Pairs,
Sixth Finger,
Country Teasers,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Wake,
Eric Copeland,
Black Pus,
Rod Modell,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Sun Ra,
Groovy Waters,
The Electric Prunes,
Interpol,
Television Personalities,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Tropical Tobacco,
Rufus Thomas,
Magma,
Wings,
Fad Gadget,
Sarah Menescal,
The Red Krayola,
Dead Boys,
Max Romeo,
The Music Machine,
Jimmy McGriff,
Lightning Bolt,
Rakim,
Hashim,
Das Ding,
Aloha Tigers,
Oblivians,
The Searchers,
Ken Boothe,
Supertramp,
Bluetip,
Howard Jones,
48th St. Collective,
Prince Buster,
Con Funk Shun,
Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja.
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.