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 Copenhagen.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Madrid.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Real Kids to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Nas. All the underground hits.
All Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dead C 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a ABBA record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Drexciya,
Johnny Osbourne,
Sam Rivers,
Derrick Morgan,
David Bowie,
Gang Starr,
R.M.O.,
Jawbox,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Chrome,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Buzzcocks,
Joy Division,
Gichy Dan,
Mr. Review,
The Residents,
The J.B.'s,
The United States of America,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Joey Negro,
Rufus Thomas,
Bizarre Inc.,
Deepchord,
DJ Style,
The Dirtbombs,
Kerri Chandler,
Amon Düül,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Cheater Slicks,
Main Source,
Bush Tetras,
Big Daddy Kane,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
New Age Steppers,
Blossom Toes,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Remains,
Soul II Soul,
Marine Girls,
Arthur Verocai,
Sugar Minott,
Gregory Isaacs,
New York Dolls,
Supertramp,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Dave Clark Five,
Howard Jones,
Brothers Johnson,
The Stooges,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Los Fastidios,
The Electric Prunes,
The Mummies,
B.T. Express,
Rosa Yemen,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Section 25,
The Motions,
Cymande,
Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran.
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.