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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Jakarta.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Black Flag to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bobbi Humphrey. All the underground hits.
All Freddie Wadling tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Reed & John Cale 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Hutcherson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tropical Tobacco,
Von Mondo,
Theoretical Girls,
The Saints,
John Foxx,
Swell Maps,
The Gladiators,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Barracudas,
Colin Newman,
Kerrie Biddell,
Brothers Johnson,
Motorama,
Piero Umiliani,
Marine Girls,
Marshall Jefferson,
Talk Talk,
Delon & Dalcan,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Jeru the Damaja,
Bob Dylan,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Marcia Griffiths,
Los Fastidios,
Zero Boys,
Ronnie Foster,
Gang of Four,
Schoolly D,
Avey Tare,
Dead Boys,
Jandek,
Slick Rick,
Loose Ends,
Agitation Free,
Marvin Gaye,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Last Poets,
Cybotron,
The Beau Brummels,
Aswad,
The Smoke,
Outsiders,
Fatback Band,
Franke,
AZ,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Kurtis Blow,
Average White Band,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Interpol,
Bizarre Inc.,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Rapeman,
Crooked Eye,
Public Image Ltd.,
Black Moon,
Public Enemy,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Alison Limerick,
Robert Hood,
Tears for Fears,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.