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 Czech Republic and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 June Days to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Barrington Levy. All the underground hits.
All the Fania All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-102 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 a harpsichord and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roy Ayers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DJ Style,
Kool Moe Dee,
B.T. Express,
MC5,
Mary Jane Girls,
Mars,
Lalann,
Morten Harket,
Nils Olav,
Jeru the Damaja,
Grauzone,
10cc,
Pylon,
The Motions,
Siglo XX,
Dorothy Ashby,
Ten City,
Man Eating Sloth,
kango's stein massive,
Eve St. Jones,
Janne Schatter,
The Five Americans,
Hoover,
Soul Sonic Force,
Fluxion,
Pagans,
Dawn Penn,
Jacques Brel,
K-Klass,
Jeff Lynne,
Pierre Henry,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Malaria!,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Mission of Burma,
Scion,
Camberwell Now,
The Electric Prunes,
Deakin,
the Bar-Kays,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Henry Cow,
Peter and Kerry,
Ralphi Rosario,
June of 44,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Cure,
The Standells,
Sandy B,
Lakeside,
Eddi Front,
Faust,
David Axelrod,
Judy Mowatt,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Derrick May,
Suicide,
the Association,
Harry Pussy,
Oneida,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell.
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.