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 Macedonia and from Paris.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Houston.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Wally Richardson to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The Searchers. All the underground hits.
All Wolf Eyes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Big Daddy Kane 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Liliput record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
One Last Wish,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Theoretical Girls,
Erasure,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Durutti Column,
Bronski Beat,
The Walker Brothers,
The Angels of Light,
Con Funk Shun,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Radiohead,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Pulsallama,
Anthony Braxton,
Audionom,
The Fire Engines,
Kaleidoscope,
The Dirtbombs,
The Star Department,
Intrusion,
Camouflage,
Half Japanese,
Pharoah Sanders,
Minutemen,
Wire,
the Germs,
U.S. Maple,
Niagra,
The Leaves,
Funky Four + One,
B.T. Express,
the Slits,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Ronnie Foster,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Slave,
Sugar Minott,
Mandrill,
Electric Prunes,
Lakeside,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Eden Ahbez,
Harmonia,
AZ,
Maleditus Sound,
Swell Maps,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Alton Ellis,
John Foxx,
Ponytail,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Cowsills,
Iggy Pop,
Robert Görl,
Magma, Magma, Magma, Magma.
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.