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 Nepal and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Milan.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Absolute Body Control 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 Sad Lovers and Giants. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every John Foxx record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lou Christie,
Shoche,
Massinfluence,
Josef K,
Saccharine Trust,
Bauhaus,
Slick Rick,
Bush Tetras,
The Cramps,
Cecil Taylor,
The Sisters of Mercy,
OOIOO,
The Index,
Eric B and Rakim,
Moby Grape,
Donald Byrd,
Ultravox,
Radiohead,
Judy Mowatt,
Pulsallama,
Lungfish,
Hardrive,
Intrusion,
Scrapy,
The Kinks,
Gil Scott Heron,
Desert Stars,
Roxy Music,
Prince Buster,
Sun City Girls,
Model 500,
Urselle,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Stockholm Monsters,
Crooked Eye,
Fatback Band,
Albert Ayler,
New Age Steppers,
The Residents,
Rufus Thomas,
Grandmaster Flash,
Average White Band,
June of 44,
Terrestrial Tones,
Siglo XX,
China Crisis,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Black Flag,
the Germs,
Harpers Bizarre,
Quantec,
Gang Starr,
Max Romeo,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Pussy Galore,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sixth Finger,
Eden Ahbez,
Steve Hackett,
Tim Buckley,
Matthew Halsall, Matthew Halsall, Matthew Halsall, Matthew Halsall.
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.