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 United States and from Sao Paulo.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Black Sheep to the electroclash 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 Prince Buster. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Vaughan Mason & Crew 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
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 Ten City record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Toni Rubio,
AZ,
T. Rex,
Erasure,
Connie Case,
Franke,
The Motions,
Unrelated Segments,
the Germs,
Tears for Fears,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Electric Prunes,
Lucky Dragons,
Eric B and Rakim,
Basic Channel,
Scion,
Lungfish,
Moebius,
Jacques Brel,
Gong,
Average White Band,
Funkadelic,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Music Machine,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Scrapy,
Donald Byrd,
Arthur Verocai,
Wally Richardson,
Lightning Bolt,
Pet Shop Boys,
Fugazi,
Cameo,
The Kinks,
Todd Terry,
The Evens,
Das Ding,
Fatback Band,
Reagan Youth,
Brothers Johnson,
Audionom,
Joe Smooth,
Iggy Pop,
Bob Dylan,
The Dirtbombs,
Mo-Dettes,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Alice Coltrane,
Mars,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Niagra,
Jacob Miller,
The Standells,
The Fortunes,
DJ Style,
The Monks,
The Walker Brothers,
Robert Görl,
Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One.
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.