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 Trinidad & Tobago and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Chris Corsano to the dance 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 Desert Stars. All the underground hits.
All The Electric Prunes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five 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 theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barbara Tucker record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tears for Fears,
The Martian,
The Sound,
48th St. Collective,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
June of 44,
John Foxx,
Johnny Osbourne,
Man Eating Sloth,
Ornette Coleman,
Soft Machine,
Oblivians,
Fatback Band,
The Last Poets,
Ralphi Rosario,
Stiv Bators,
Deakin,
The Knickerbockers,
the Bar-Kays,
Howard Jones,
Lalann,
Country Teasers,
Shoche,
Donny Hathaway,
Accadde A,
Janne Schatter,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Jimmy McGriff,
Barclay James Harvest,
Terrestrial Tones,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Wire,
The Fall,
David Axelrod,
Pagans,
Chrome,
Faust,
The J.B.'s,
Traffic Nightmare,
Joyce Sims,
Skriet,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Gap Band,
New York Dolls,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Jandek,
The American Breed,
Rhythm & Sound,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Neil Young,
Tomorrow,
Joy Division,
Lakeside,
Barbara Tucker,
Josef K,
Althea and Donna,
Cheater Slicks,
The Kinks,
Cameo,
John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane.
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.