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 Djibouti and from Delhi.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Star Department to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Unrelated Segments. All the underground hits.
All Mary Jane Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every In Retrospect record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cecil Taylor record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Desert Stars,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Brass Construction,
Marmalade,
Glenn Branca,
Marshall Jefferson,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Anthony Braxton,
Kayak,
Joy Division,
Gang of Four,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Names,
The Velvet Underground,
June Days,
Bobby Sherman,
Sun Ra,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Yellowson,
These Immortal Souls,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Fugs,
Loose Ends,
Byron Stingily,
Sandy B,
Joensuu 1685,
Adolescents,
The Mojo Men,
Magma,
David Axelrod,
The Detroit Cobras,
Mary Jane Girls,
Slick Rick,
Rod Modell,
Newcleus,
Lindisfarne,
The Walker Brothers,
The Remains,
The Cowsills,
Isaac Hayes,
Rhythm & Sound,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Eddi Front,
The Gladiators,
Eric B and Rakim,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Saccharine Trust,
Qualms,
Electric Prunes,
Inner City,
DJ Style,
Shoche,
Minny Pops,
Bauhaus,
The Selecter,
Ornette Coleman,
Maurizio,
Laurel Aitken,
John Holt,
Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman.
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.