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 Liberia and from Woodstock.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Lafayette Afro Rock Band to the grime kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Roger Hodgson. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Sherman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Womack record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fuzztones,
The Smoke,
Lee Hazlewood,
Massinfluence,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Minor Threat,
Alton Ellis,
Brand Nubian,
Crooked Eye,
The Modern Lovers,
Gong,
Scratch Acid,
The J.B.'s,
Blossom Toes,
the Normal,
Sparks,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
K-Klass,
Ossler,
Yusef Lateef,
Gastr Del Sol,
Public Enemy,
Crash Course in Science,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Tim Buckley,
Nick Fraelich,
Delon & Dalcan,
Kerrie Biddell,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Litter,
Donald Byrd,
Dual Sessions,
Fatback Band,
Eric Copeland,
Babytalk,
Trumans Water,
The Selecter,
Los Fastidios,
Joe Smooth,
Andrew Hill,
The Angels of Light,
Flash Fearless,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Nils Olav,
Make Up,
Heaven 17,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Victims,
H. Thieme,
F. McDonald,
Marine Girls,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Bush Tetras,
Radio Birdman,
Flamin' Groovies,
the Swans,
Blake Baxter,
Vladislav Delay,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Chris Corsano,
The Searchers,
Severed Heads, Severed Heads, Severed Heads, Severed Heads.
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.