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 Guinea-Bissau and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Dorothy Ashby to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Ossler. All the underground hits.
All Wings tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lakeside 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Kinks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispy Ambulance,
Gong,
Soft Cell,
Soft Machine,
Scion,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Hardrive,
The Index,
These Immortal Souls,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Grass Roots,
Marshall Jefferson,
Excepter,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Minutemen,
Sparks,
Arcadia,
Pantytec,
Wolf Eyes,
The Cowsills,
Wally Richardson,
Harry Pussy,
Young Marble Giants,
Skarface,
Donny Hathaway,
Camouflage,
Trumans Water,
Harmonia,
Mantronix,
Blancmange,
Robert Görl,
La Düsseldorf,
Boogie Down Productions,
Big Daddy Kane,
Matthew Halsall,
Donald Byrd,
June of 44,
The Black Dice,
Scratch Acid,
JFA,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Radio Birdman,
Fluxion,
Newcleus,
Unwound,
Eric Copeland,
Zapp,
Dave Gahan,
Alice Coltrane,
Groovy Waters,
Reuben Wilson,
Roy Ayers,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Television,
Pylon,
Second Layer,
Sixth Finger,
Graham Central Station,
Cal Tjader,
Grey Daturas,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Barracudas,
Pharoah Sanders,
Grandmaster Flash, Grandmaster Flash, Grandmaster Flash, Grandmaster Flash.
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.