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 Mexico and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 theremin 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 The Durutti Column to the funk 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All The Vogues tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tears for Fears record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Mummies 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?
Clear Light,
Gregory Isaacs,
New Age Steppers,
The United States of America,
Procol Harum,
Easy Going,
Shoche,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Scientists,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Yaz,
Lyres,
Junior Murvin,
Yellowson,
Byron Stingily,
B.T. Express,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
X-102,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Gap Band,
The Monks,
Wire,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Black Dice,
Kenny Larkin,
Fluxion,
Harpers Bizarre,
Brothers Johnson,
Cecil Taylor,
Panda Bear,
Basic Channel,
Schoolly D,
Fad Gadget,
Popol Vuh,
Donald Byrd,
Q and Not U,
Wolf Eyes,
The Pretty Things,
Moebius,
Brick,
Curtis Mayfield,
Eric Copeland,
CMW,
Rod Modell,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Pylon,
Faust,
Sam Rivers,
Jeff Mills,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Kurtis Blow,
Radiohead,
Nick Fraelich,
Eddi Front,
Soft Machine,
Sister Nancy,
Soft Cell,
Black Flag,
Black Bananas, Black Bananas, Black Bananas, Black Bananas.
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.