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 Colombia and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Portland.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ 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 Visage to the crunk 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 Robert Hood. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sonny Sharrock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Toasters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brick,
Buzzcocks,
Trumans Water,
Zero Boys,
Minny Pops,
Jerry's Kids,
Bizarre Inc.,
Von Mondo,
Mandrill,
Reuben Wilson,
Connie Case,
Letta Mbulu,
Oblivians,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Kevin Saunderson,
EPMD,
Tommy Roe,
Deadbeat,
Goldenarms,
Gil Scott Heron,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Gabor Szabo,
Eden Ahbez,
Dave Gahan,
The Blackbyrds,
The Moody Blues,
The Slits,
The Shadows of Knight,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Last Poets,
Aswad,
Barbara Tucker,
Chris Corsano,
Sarah Menescal,
Shoche,
Spandau Ballet,
The Invisible,
The Music Machine,
E-Dancer,
Scrapy,
Massinfluence,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Popol Vuh,
These Immortal Souls,
Jacob Miller,
The Smiths,
Rosa Yemen,
Heaven 17,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
T. Rex,
Visage,
Bobby Byrd,
Vainqueur,
Reagan Youth,
The Monks,
Franke,
Bobby Womack,
L. Decosne,
Rakim,
Faraquet,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Detroit Cobras,
Harry Pussy,
Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian, Brand Nubian.
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.