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 Barbados and from Accra.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 synthesizer 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 The Litter to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Black Moon. All the underground hits.
All Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aswad record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Althea and Donna record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Shoche,
The New Christs,
Kool Moe Dee,
Peter and Kerry,
The Names,
Grauzone,
F. McDonald,
Swell Maps,
48th St. Collective,
Fat Boys,
Fela Kuti,
Joe Smooth,
Blancmange,
Gregory Isaacs,
World's Most,
Lindisfarne,
Pagans,
U.S. Maple,
June of 44,
The Offenders,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
H. Thieme,
The Dave Clark Five,
Fugazi,
Sound Behaviour,
D'Angelo,
The Dirtbombs,
June Days,
Dawn Penn,
Flash Fearless,
8 Eyed Spy,
John Holt,
David Axelrod,
The Fuzztones,
Marshall Jefferson,
Morten Harket,
Negative Approach,
Eric Copeland,
Television,
Motorama,
Mission of Burma,
Stereo Dub,
The Selecter,
Banda Bassotti,
Jeff Lynne,
Minnie Riperton,
the Fania All-Stars,
Oblivians,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Second Layer,
Bang On A Can,
Tomorrow,
Gang of Four,
The Moleskins,
Nation of Ulysses,
Hasil Adkins,
Eric B and Rakim,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Sugar Minott,
Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth.
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.