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 Swaziland and from Beijing.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 synthesizer 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 The Misunderstood to the electroclash 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 Sixth Finger. All the underground hits.
All Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dawn Penn 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The New Christs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pantaleimon,
The Smoke,
Crispian St. Peters,
Grey Daturas,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Saints,
The Red Krayola,
Agitation Free,
Eve St. Jones,
Make Up,
Panda Bear,
The Seeds,
Pierre Henry,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Count Five,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Matthew Bourne,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Durutti Column,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Marine Girls,
The Barracudas,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Pussy Galore,
Glambeats Corp.,
Althea and Donna,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Robert Hood,
Buzzcocks,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Hashim,
Aswad,
Fluxion,
Jerry's Kids,
Skaos,
Skriet,
Aloha Tigers,
Pagans,
Aaron Thompson,
The Happenings,
The Fall,
Crime,
The Selecter,
Frankie Knuckles,
T. Rex,
Bob Dylan,
Henry Cow,
The Mummies,
Guru Guru,
Max Romeo,
The Associates,
Sarah Menescal,
Gang Starr,
Michelle Simonal,
Cameo,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
KRS-One,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Buckinghams,
Alison Limerick, Alison Limerick, Alison Limerick, Alison Limerick.
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.