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 Macedonia and from Calgary.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the marimba 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 Marc Almond to the jazz 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 Sly & The Family Stone. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every cv313 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Hoover record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cybotron,
The J.B.'s,
Josef K,
Donny Hathaway,
Ronan,
KRS-One,
Hoover,
Arcadia,
Kaleidoscope,
Iggy Pop,
The Happenings,
Black Flag,
Barclay James Harvest,
Smog,
Hashim,
Camberwell Now,
Kerrie Biddell,
The United States of America,
Suicide,
Eric B and Rakim,
Crooked Eye,
Trumans Water,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Au Pairs,
Flipper,
Peter & Gordon,
Ralphi Rosario,
Rod Modell,
Anthony Braxton,
Make Up,
Sandy B,
Tres Demented,
June of 44,
Delta 5,
Negative Approach,
Marc Almond,
The Fuzztones,
Severed Heads,
Interpol,
Intrusion,
The Walker Brothers,
In Retrospect,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Inner City,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Theoretical Girls,
Quantec,
Oblivians,
Robert Wyatt,
Vladislav Delay,
Wasted Youth,
Wire,
Erasure,
The Mummies,
The Young Rascals,
Eli Mardock,
Whodini,
Radiopuhelimet,
Los Fastidios,
Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry.
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.