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 Grenada and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Sao Paulo.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Deepchord. All the underground hits.
All 48th St. Collective tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ice-T,
Moby Grape,
8 Eyed Spy,
Country Teasers,
The Pop Group,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Detroit Cobras,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Porter Ricks,
Donny Hathaway,
Gil Scott Heron,
Q and Not U,
Judy Mowatt,
Cameo,
Max Romeo,
Metal Thangz,
Livin' Joy,
Clear Light,
Yazoo,
Nirvana,
Rekid,
Cheater Slicks,
Unrelated Segments,
The Neon Judgement,
The Remains,
Sonny Sharrock,
Brick,
Magma,
The Move,
Shuggie Otis,
Simply Red,
The Sound,
Darondo,
Jeff Mills,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Evens,
World's Most,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Radio Birdman,
This Heat,
Whodini,
Fluxion,
E-Dancer,
Ultra Naté,
Con Funk Shun,
Donald Byrd,
Public Enemy,
Angry Samoans,
Ronnie Foster,
A Certain Ratio,
Anakelly,
Wally Richardson,
X-101,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Skatalites,
Juan Atkins,
The Slits,
Ponytail,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap, Gary Puckett & The Union Gap, Gary Puckett & The Union Gap, Gary Puckett & The Union Gap.
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.