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 Cambodia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Unrelated Segments to the jazz 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 Rites of Spring. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every F. McDonald 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brothers Johnson,
Sister Nancy,
Negative Approach,
Fugazi,
kango's stein massive,
Blancmange,
Albert Ayler,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Goldenarms,
Icehouse,
The Searchers,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Easy Going,
Black Pus,
Arthur Verocai,
DJ Sneak,
Smog,
Lungfish,
Vainqueur,
Gil Scott Heron,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Procol Harum,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Gories,
Bauhaus,
Alphaville,
Sound Behaviour,
the Fania All-Stars,
Little Man,
Todd Rundgren,
the Association,
Iggy Pop,
DJ Style,
Ultravox,
John Cale,
Don Cherry,
Bobby Byrd,
Whodini,
CMW,
Ralphi Rosario,
Chris Corsano,
Lebanon Hanover,
Black Moon,
Sun City Girls,
The Barracudas,
The American Breed,
B.T. Express,
Andrew Hill,
Curtis Mayfield,
Bizarre Inc.,
Stereo Dub,
Eli Mardock,
The Motions,
Scientists,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sparks,
Pussy Galore,
The Remains,
Marshall Jefferson,
Panda Bear,
Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans.
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.