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 India and from Calgary.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Television 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 Jawbox. All the underground hits.
All Robert Wyatt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Yusef Lateef record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 spring reverb and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cowsills record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gladiators,
Slick Rick,
Ken Boothe,
Suburban Knight,
Lindisfarne,
the Soft Cell,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Selecter,
Bobby Hutcherson,
KRS-One,
Sexual Harrassment,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Joey Negro,
Motorama,
Easy Going,
Glambeats Corp.,
ABBA,
The Detroit Cobras,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Sam Rivers,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Steve Hackett,
The Smoke,
Connie Case,
Skriet,
Sister Nancy,
The Leaves,
Freddie Wadling,
New York Dolls,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
R.M.O.,
Carl Craig,
Frankie Knuckles,
China Crisis,
Sandy B,
Arab on Radar,
Supertramp,
The Motions,
Mr. Review,
Erasure,
Lower 48,
Minny Pops,
Dawn Penn,
Von Mondo,
The Human League,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Scion,
Khruangbin,
ABC,
Stiv Bators,
Avey Tare,
The Electric Prunes,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Amazonics,
Gabor Szabo,
Johnny Clarke,
Aswad,
Livin' Joy,
Subhumans,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Rotary Connection,
Toni Rubio,
Bob Dylan,
Black Bananas, Black Bananas, Black Bananas, Black Bananas.
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.