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 Ukraine and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 snare 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 Real Kids to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Young Rascals. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cameo 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Shoche,
Sun City Girls,
The Fire Engines,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Oblivians,
Suburban Knight,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Funkadelic,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Blancmange,
Alison Limerick,
Andrew Hill,
Yazoo,
the Germs,
Reagan Youth,
Marcia Griffiths,
Monks,
Pole,
Minnie Riperton,
Japan,
Banda Bassotti,
AZ,
Gang Gang Dance,
Cybotron,
Donald Byrd,
The Leaves,
Camberwell Now,
Funky Four + One,
Magazine,
Joensuu 1685,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Stockholm Monsters,
Procol Harum,
Bob Dylan,
Erasure,
Flipper,
Ralphi Rosario,
Interpol,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Black Bananas,
Nas,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Divine Comedy,
Deepchord,
Throbbing Gristle,
Cymande,
cv313,
Kurtis Blow,
Amon Düül,
Gabor Szabo,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Dorothy Ashby,
Slave,
U.S. Maple,
Moss Icon,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Albert Ayler,
Q and Not U,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch.
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.