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 Brazil and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 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 Theoretical Girls to the disco kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Gian Franco Pienzio. All the underground hits.
All Robert Wyatt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Siouxsie and the Banshees record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a EPMD record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dead C,
James White and The Blacks,
Barclay James Harvest,
48th St. Collective,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Golliwogs,
John Lydon,
T. Rex,
The Trojans,
Sun City Girls,
Zero Boys,
Albert Ayler,
Bob Dylan,
Saccharine Trust,
Mars,
Hoover,
The American Breed,
Shuggie Otis,
Masters at Work,
Mission of Burma,
Mr. Review,
kango's stein massive,
Be Bop Deluxe,
JFA,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Moby Grape,
Flash Fearless,
Fluxion,
Skriet,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Spoonie Gee,
Black Bananas,
Tommy Roe,
Monks,
The Raincoats,
Guru Guru,
the Normal,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Graham Central Station,
The Blackbyrds,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Magma,
Angry Samoans,
The Electric Prunes,
Mo-Dettes,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
KRS-One,
The Barracudas,
UT,
Lower 48,
Todd Rundgren,
Janne Schatter,
A Certain Ratio,
The Velvet Underground,
The Five Americans,
Loose Ends,
Drexciya,
The Wake,
Man Parrish,
Henry Cow,
Roxette,
F. McDonald,
Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe.
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.