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 Netherlands 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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Alarm Clocks to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Oppenheimer Analysis. All the underground hits.
All Donald Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aaron Thompson 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin 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 arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Johnny Osbourne,
Alphaville,
Judy Mowatt,
Whodini,
Derrick May,
Brick,
Sexual Harrassment,
Scrapy,
The Doobie Brothers,
Talk Talk,
The Techniques,
Television Personalities,
The Black Dice,
Sex Pistols,
Howard Jones,
The Shadows of Knight,
R.M.O.,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Radio Birdman,
The Alarm Clocks,
Marcia Griffiths,
Shoche,
Lakeside,
Make Up,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Scientists,
Tim Buckley,
The Five Americans,
Bronski Beat,
Motorama,
June Days,
Tommy Roe,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Buckinghams,
Electric Prunes,
Masters at Work,
Interpol,
Echospace,
Pharoah Sanders,
Harmonia,
Funkadelic,
Ronnie Foster,
Drive Like Jehu,
Marc Almond,
Arcadia,
Zero Boys,
The Moody Blues,
Skaos,
Vladislav Delay,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Lightning Bolt,
Yazoo,
Q and Not U,
ABBA,
Rakim,
John Cale,
Isaac Hayes,
The Pretty Things,
Sällskapet,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Ultravox,
DJ Style,
Pantytec, Pantytec, Pantytec, Pantytec.
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.