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 Liechtenstein and from Portland.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Sun Ra Arkestra to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Be Bop Deluxe. All the underground hits.
All Bill Wells tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gian Franco Pienzio 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nick Fraelich,
Amon Düül II,
Grandmaster Flash,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Malaria!,
Marine Girls,
Al Stewart,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Electric Prunes,
Harry Pussy,
Radio Birdman,
Mandrill,
Michelle Simonal,
Accadde A,
X-101,
Lou Reed,
Minor Threat,
Funky Four + One,
David McCallum,
The Moody Blues,
Sight & Sound,
the Association,
Cal Tjader,
Groovy Waters,
Whodini,
X-Ray Spex,
The Sound,
Nation of Ulysses,
Radiohead,
Roy Ayers,
Robert Görl,
June Days,
Sonny Sharrock,
Cymande,
Liliput,
Theoretical Girls,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
ABBA,
Boz Scaggs,
Cheater Slicks,
Joyce Sims,
The Walker Brothers,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Wasted Youth,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Gang Starr,
Scratch Acid,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Trumans Water,
Traffic Nightmare,
James White and The Blacks,
Hardrive,
Sun Ra,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Sugar Minott,
Don Cherry,
James Chance & The Contortions,
New York Dolls,
The Busters,
the Slits, the Slits, the Slits, the Slits.
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.