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 Bangladesh and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Drexciya to the disco 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 Major Organ And The Adding Machine. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Sherman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kerri Chandler record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Curtis Mayfield,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Fire Engines,
D'Angelo,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Tomorrow,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Letta Mbulu,
The Zeros,
Main Source,
Amon Düül,
Tears for Fears,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Yusef Lateef,
Amazonics,
Eddi Front,
Thompson Twins,
Ultra Naté,
Stiv Bators,
Bobbi Humphrey,
June of 44,
Parry Music,
The J.B.'s,
Electric Prunes,
H. Thieme,
Second Layer,
Can,
The Evens,
Minny Pops,
Graham Central Station,
Colin Newman,
Warsaw,
Inner City,
Eurythmics,
Pagans,
Visage,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Slave,
Marvin Gaye,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Underground Resistance,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Rosa Yemen,
Sixth Finger,
Ten City,
Pantytec,
Sight & Sound,
Masters at Work,
Bobby Womack,
Ronnie Foster,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Barracudas,
Arcadia,
10cc,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Sonics,
Fad Gadget,
The Young Rascals,
The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills.
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.