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 Finland and from Accra.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Johnny Osbourne to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 American Breed. All the underground hits.
All The Five Americans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Letta Mbulu record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
Bad Manners,
New York Dolls,
Neu!,
Hashim,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Reuben Wilson,
Freddie Wadling,
Boz Scaggs,
The Litter,
Organ,
Wasted Youth,
Jandek,
Mandrill,
EPMD,
Rosa Yemen,
Unwound,
the Swans,
The Smiths,
Kaleidoscope,
Sight & Sound,
Pet Shop Boys,
Grey Daturas,
Groovy Waters,
Delon & Dalcan,
Marc Almond,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Yellowson,
Rites of Spring,
Skriet,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Buckinghams,
Monolake,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Rod Modell,
Pere Ubu,
Hot Snakes,
Rekid,
Tears for Fears,
Franke,
These Immortal Souls,
X-101,
Crime,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Velvet Underground,
Johnny Osbourne,
Harpers Bizarre,
Gastr Del Sol,
48th St. Collective,
Mad Mike,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Ken Boothe,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Pharoah Sanders,
FM Einheit,
UT,
Rapeman,
Rufus Thomas,
The Residents,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Alison Limerick,
Michelle Simonal,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.