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 Taiwan and from Stockholm.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Joey Negro to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Gang Starr. All the underground hits.
All Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fortunes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 an organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Bar-Kays record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Byron Stingily,
Masters at Work,
Brothers Johnson,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Donald Byrd,
Radio Birdman,
Procol Harum,
The Busters,
Cameo,
The Smoke,
Crispy Ambulance,
Terrestrial Tones,
Cal Tjader,
The Young Rascals,
Robert Hood,
Lungfish,
Yaz,
Pulsallama,
PIL,
The Pretty Things,
Second Layer,
Monks,
The Saints,
China Crisis,
KRS-One,
Grey Daturas,
Sonic Youth,
Rites of Spring,
Heaven 17,
The Offenders,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Toni Rubio,
Fad Gadget,
Johnny Clarke,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
the Human League,
The Dead C,
Thompson Twins,
Camberwell Now,
EPMD,
The Sound,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Moby Grape,
Ultravox,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
June Days,
Ponytail,
FM Einheit,
Surgeon,
Donny Hathaway,
Guru Guru,
Boredoms,
Girls At Our Best!,
Altered Images,
Zapp,
Soul II Soul,
Mantronix,
The Grass Roots,
Moebius,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Hashim,
Godley & Creme,
Main Source, Main Source, Main Source, Main Source.
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.