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 Latvia and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Donny Hathaway to the grunge 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 Rufus Thomas. All the underground hits.
All Theoretical Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Absolute Body Control record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharoah Sanders record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Country Teasers,
Marshall Jefferson,
Ultimate Spinach,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Ultra Naté,
Radiopuhelimet,
Kayak,
Soul Sonic Force,
Rufus Thomas,
Sister Nancy,
Aaron Thompson,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Gang Starr,
Robert Hood,
Hot Snakes,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ultravox,
The Sonics,
The Move,
Outsiders,
Rod Modell,
Amon Düül II,
Echospace,
Scan 7,
Underground Resistance,
Crispian St. Peters,
Tropical Tobacco,
Quantec,
Jacques Brel,
Lucky Dragons,
Marcia Griffiths,
Donald Byrd,
Gabor Szabo,
Todd Terry,
Swell Maps,
Jeff Mills,
The Star Department,
The Gladiators,
Boredoms,
Los Fastidios,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Oblivians,
Funky Four + One,
Jeru the Damaja,
Subhumans,
Symarip,
The Cowsills,
The Motions,
Excepter,
The Monks,
Kool Moe Dee,
Kas Product,
Ronan,
Vladislav Delay,
Bill Wells,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Nas,
DJ Style,
New Age Steppers,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Sound, The Sound, The Sound, The Sound.
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.