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 Guyana 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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Bobby Hutcherson to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Big Daddy Kane. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lalo Schifrin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Skaos,
Tres Demented,
Ultravox,
Sex Pistols,
Reuben Wilson,
The Dirtbombs,
The Doors,
The Saints,
The Cure,
Moby Grape,
Scrapy,
Sun Ra,
DNA,
Danielle Patucci,
Kenny Larkin,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Dave Gahan,
Boz Scaggs,
Los Fastidios,
Camberwell Now,
Drive Like Jehu,
Erykah Badu,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Victims,
Essential Logic,
Soulsonic Force,
Reagan Youth,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Panda Bear,
Das Ding,
Grandmaster Flash,
Trumans Water,
Glenn Branca,
Magma,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Stiv Bators,
Yazoo,
The Blackbyrds,
Scratch Acid,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Howard Jones,
Unwound,
Yaz,
48th St. Collective,
T. Rex,
Icehouse,
Crispy Ambulance,
Lalo Schifrin,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Neu!,
China Crisis,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Graham Central Station,
Lou Reed,
World's Most,
The Litter,
Brothers Johnson,
The Monks,
Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel.
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.