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 Vanuatu and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 arpeggiator 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 David Bowie to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Laurel Aitken. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pierre Henry 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Five Americans,
New Order,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Charles Mingus,
Henry Cow,
Deepchord,
Todd Terry,
The Gladiators,
The Raincoats,
Goldenarms,
Pylon,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Arthur Verocai,
Sam Rivers,
Barbara Tucker,
Neil Young,
Idris Muhammad,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Absolute Body Control,
Marshall Jefferson,
Adolescents,
DJ Style,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Banda Bassotti,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Todd Rundgren,
the Fania All-Stars,
Roxette,
Q and Not U,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Mark Hollis,
Gerry Rafferty,
John Holt,
Minny Pops,
Radio Birdman,
Bobby Sherman,
Derrick May,
Terry Callier,
The Human League,
Scion,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Boz Scaggs,
Severed Heads,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Darondo,
Excepter,
Depeche Mode,
Bootsy Collins,
Roxy Music,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
June Days,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Fela Kuti,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Alphaville,
Bill Near,
Marc Almond,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Sister Nancy,
Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye.
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.