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 Fiji and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Ornette Coleman to the punk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Shuggie Otis. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott Heron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Henry Cow 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a kango's stein massive record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
U.S. Maple,
The Moleskins,
The Toasters,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Monochrome Set,
Stockholm Monsters,
Monolake,
The Smoke,
B.T. Express,
Nirvana,
Reuben Wilson,
the Normal,
Technova,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Black Sheep,
Brand Nubian,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Alison Limerick,
Harry Pussy,
Bush Tetras,
Rotary Connection,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Knickerbockers,
Altered Images,
Circle Jerks,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Tom Boy,
the Association,
Ohio Players,
Porter Ricks,
Scientists,
Saccharine Trust,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Kevin Saunderson,
Roger Hodgson,
Gang Gang Dance,
Angry Samoans,
Quadrant,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Durutti Column,
Crash Course in Science,
Echospace,
Jeru the Damaja,
Funkadelic,
The Blues Magoos,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Underground Resistance,
The Cramps,
The Walker Brothers,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Massinfluence,
Lyres,
The Happenings,
Can,
Kurtis Blow,
Ultravox,
Ossler,
Chris & Cosey,
Alphaville, Alphaville, Alphaville, Alphaville.
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.