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 Sierra Leone and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 chamberlin 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 Erykah Badu to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Swell Maps. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Arab on Radar record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Big Daddy Kane,
Don Cherry,
Public Image Ltd.,
Country Teasers,
Lakeside,
The Alarm Clocks,
Harmonia,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Rosa Yemen,
Scratch Acid,
Dark Day,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
OOIOO,
Avey Tare,
Clear Light,
The American Breed,
Porter Ricks,
Crooked Eye,
Marine Girls,
The Slits,
LL Cool J,
The Seeds,
Delta 5,
The Index,
Slave,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
DJ Style,
Swell Maps,
Pere Ubu,
Hasil Adkins,
Lungfish,
Public Enemy,
Soft Machine,
Barry Ungar,
T.S.O.L.,
a-ha,
The Kinks,
Darondo,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Black Sheep,
Second Layer,
Skaos,
Grandmaster Flash,
Beasts of Bourbon,
This Heat,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Kaleidoscope,
Das Ding,
Angry Samoans,
Little Man,
Gichy Dan,
KRS-One,
Slick Rick,
Susan Cadogan,
Sällskapet,
Talk Talk,
The Pop Group,
Lalann,
Connie Case,
Anakelly,
Camouflage,
48th St. Collective, 48th St. Collective, 48th St. Collective, 48th St. Collective.
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.