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 Seychelles and from Manila.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 rhodes 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 The Sonics to the grime 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 Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam. All the underground hits.
All Inner City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every F. McDonald record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DeepChord presents Echospace record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Whodini,
The Blues Magoos,
Cal Tjader,
Stereo Dub,
The Birthday Party,
Bob Dylan,
The Mojo Men,
Sun Ra,
AZ,
The Evens,
The Dead C,
The Sonics,
Dead Boys,
Avey Tare,
Cameo,
Nico,
Fear,
Jacques Brel,
Oneida,
Derrick Morgan,
The Gap Band,
Interpol,
The Cure,
Nirvana,
Maurizio,
Vainqueur,
Harmonia,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Slick Rick,
Banda Bassotti,
The Doors,
The Neon Judgement,
The Real Kids,
Neu!,
Harpers Bizarre,
KRS-One,
Vladislav Delay,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Moleskins,
Carl Craig,
Throbbing Gristle,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Chrome,
Tears for Fears,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Jerry's Kids,
Jimmy McGriff,
Brothers Johnson,
Gong,
Toni Rubio,
Ice-T,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Arab on Radar,
The Fire Engines,
Nik Kershaw,
The Offenders,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Grass Roots,
The Trojans,
T. Rex,
John Foxx, John Foxx, John Foxx, John Foxx.
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.