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 Thailand and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gil Scott Heron to the jazz 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 The Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All Blake Baxter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slick Rick record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Average White Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brand Nubian,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Scrapy,
The Pretty Things,
Desert Stars,
T.S.O.L.,
Radio Birdman,
La Düsseldorf,
Delta 5,
James White and The Blacks,
Yusef Lateef,
The Offenders,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Anakelly,
Lalo Schifrin,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Gang Starr,
Avey Tare,
Supertramp,
Severed Heads,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Qualms,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Dawn Penn,
Matthew Halsall,
The Fire Engines,
Carl Craig,
Dual Sessions,
Wasted Youth,
The Names,
Urselle,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
David McCallum,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The United States of America,
Tres Demented,
Stiv Bators,
Rhythm & Sound,
Lindisfarne,
Black Flag,
Boz Scaggs,
Ultravox,
Joey Negro,
Deepchord,
Kurtis Blow,
China Crisis,
Black Bananas,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Real Kids,
The Count Five,
Quando Quango,
Darondo,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Sun Ra,
Moss Icon,
X-Ray Spex,
These Immortal Souls,
10cc, 10cc, 10cc, 10cc.
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.