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 Bolivia and from Bologna.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Jerry Gold Smith to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Hot Snakes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Manfred Mann's Earth Band 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Gang Dance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bush Tetras,
Can,
The Pretty Things,
E-Dancer,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Tres Demented,
The Last Poets,
Spandau Ballet,
Roxette,
Derrick May,
Scan 7,
China Crisis,
Fugazi,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Selecter,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Gap Band,
Skaos,
Max Romeo,
The Standells,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Porter Ricks,
Tears for Fears,
Fela Kuti,
This Heat,
The Walker Brothers,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Hot Snakes,
Electric Prunes,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Invisible,
Morten Harket,
Lou Christie,
Stiv Bators,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Underground Resistance,
Bad Manners,
John Cale,
Parry Music,
Darondo,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Michelle Simonal,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Echospace,
F. McDonald,
Leonard Cohen,
The Detroit Cobras,
Silicon Teens,
Goldenarms,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
David Axelrod,
Iggy Pop,
Alphaville,
CMW,
Cecil Taylor,
Lightning Bolt,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Los Fastidios,
Moss Icon,
Bill Wells,
The Remains,
Magma,
Barrington Levy,
Oneida, Oneida, Oneida, Oneida.
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.