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 Marshall Islands and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 De La Soul & Jungle Brothers to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Cymande. All the underground hits.
All Ohio Players tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Detroit Cobras record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Buckinghams record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Malaria!,
Aural Exciters,
Soft Machine,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Pole,
Hot Snakes,
Ten City,
Ronan,
Cheater Slicks,
New Order,
Charles Mingus,
The Gap Band,
These Immortal Souls,
Arab on Radar,
Interpol,
Con Funk Shun,
The Names,
Reuben Wilson,
Black Moon,
The Shadows of Knight,
Lungfish,
Harmonia,
Magazine,
Deepchord,
Royal Trux,
Bob Dylan,
Curtis Mayfield,
Sällskapet,
Grey Daturas,
Mary Jane Girls,
Gichy Dan,
Cybotron,
Das Ding,
The Modern Lovers,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Monks,
Inner City,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Brothers Johnson,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Music Machine,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Saccharine Trust,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Gun Club,
DJ Style,
Goldenarms,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Invisible,
Pantaleimon,
Quando Quango,
Organ,
Josef K,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Flash Fearless,
Rapeman,
The Cowsills,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Model 500, Model 500, Model 500, Model 500.
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.