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 Zimbabwe and from Philadelphia.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Heavy D & The Boyz 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 Popol Vuh. All the underground hits.
All Metal Thangz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nick Fraelich record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Alarm Clocks,
Livin' Joy,
Fluxion,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Underground Resistance,
Roger Hodgson,
Franke,
Gang Starr,
Aloha Tigers,
The Cowsills,
James White and The Blacks,
Swell Maps,
Qualms,
The Fuzztones,
Pagans,
Dark Day,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
LL Cool J,
The Gories,
The Barracudas,
Hasil Adkins,
The American Breed,
Arcadia,
The Move,
Heaven 17,
Gabor Szabo,
Archie Shepp,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Mojo Men,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Tremeloes,
Wire,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Crooked Eye,
Althea and Donna,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Moleskins,
Circle Jerks,
Johnny Osbourne,
Thee Headcoats,
Wolf Eyes,
The Sound,
Rekid,
Quando Quango,
Index,
Morten Harket,
D'Angelo,
Banda Bassotti,
Tubeway Army,
Matthew Bourne,
Trumans Water,
The Fugs,
Aural Exciters,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Eric Copeland,
Nation of Ulysses,
Shuggie Otis,
Pantaleimon,
Rufus Thomas,
The Dead C,
Skarface,
Susan Cadogan,
T. Rex,
The Doobie Brothers, The Doobie Brothers, The Doobie Brothers, The Doobie Brothers.
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.