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 Mauritania and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Germs to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Hasil Adkins. All the underground hits.
All ABC tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 chamberlin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Blues Magoos,
Outsiders,
Ludus,
Ken Boothe,
The Fugs,
Tropical Tobacco,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Talk Talk,
Eddi Front,
Toni Rubio,
Joy Division,
The Saints,
Monks,
Cymande,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Misunderstood,
Alton Ellis,
The Mummies,
The Toasters,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Jesper Dahlback,
Pantytec,
Grey Daturas,
Gichy Dan,
Shoche,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Marc Almond,
Lakeside,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Grass Roots,
Agent Orange,
the Swans,
Masters at Work,
FM Einheit,
Joey Negro,
The Skatalites,
Gastr Del Sol,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Pop Group,
Yazoo,
Jacques Brel,
Newcleus,
The Searchers,
Young Marble Giants,
Erasure,
Bobby Womack,
Alison Limerick,
Basic Channel,
DNA,
Nirvana,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Evens,
10cc,
Deakin,
Section 25,
Gong,
The Blackbyrds,
Swell Maps,
Radio Birdman,
T. Rex,
Pagans, Pagans, Pagans, Pagans.
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.