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 Togo and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Copenhagen.
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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the sitar 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 D'Angelo to the funk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Frankie Knuckles. All the underground hits.
All Bobbi Humphrey tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ronan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Index record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lyres,
Technova,
U.S. Maple,
The Dead C,
Porter Ricks,
Fluxion,
Blancmange,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
F. McDonald,
Crime,
the Soft Cell,
Buzzcocks,
Eddi Front,
Michelle Simonal,
The Kinks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Rapeman,
Kayak,
Khruangbin,
The Tremeloes,
Susan Cadogan,
Dark Day,
Echospace,
Ornette Coleman,
Patti Smith,
Amon Düül,
Eric B and Rakim,
Quadrant,
Stiv Bators,
Bronski Beat,
Newcleus,
Moby Grape,
Pierre Henry,
Carl Craig,
Duran Duran,
The Shadows of Knight,
Excepter,
Boz Scaggs,
Gong,
Cheater Slicks,
Thompson Twins,
The Sisters of Mercy,
La Düsseldorf,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Bill Wells,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Camouflage,
Bob Dylan,
Tim Buckley,
Tomorrow,
John Foxx,
Joyce Sims,
E-Dancer,
Bizarre Inc.,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
8 Eyed Spy,
Tropical Tobacco,
Supertramp,
Spandau Ballet,
Electric Prunes,
Liliput,
Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science.
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.