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 San Marino and from Bologna.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 güiro 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 U.S. Maple to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Joyce Sims. All the underground hits.
All Gabor Szabo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Gladiators 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joensuu 1685 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Barry Ungar,
Johnny Clarke,
Man Parrish,
Max Romeo,
Soul II Soul,
X-101,
ABC,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
OOIOO,
Sonic Youth,
Faraquet,
Infiniti,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Jandek,
Ralphi Rosario,
KRS-One,
Gang Green,
Newcleus,
EPMD,
Pet Shop Boys,
Thee Headcoats,
U.S. Maple,
Eve St. Jones,
The Selecter,
The Kinks,
Thompson Twins,
The Fall,
Bush Tetras,
The Leaves,
The Names,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Cheater Slicks,
Flamin' Groovies,
Mark Hollis,
The Grass Roots,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Black Pus,
Warsaw,
Ohio Players,
The Pretty Things,
The Red Krayola,
Patti Smith,
The Five Americans,
Mars,
Suburban Knight,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Warren Ellis,
Tears for Fears,
Robert Wyatt,
The Sonics,
Scott Walker,
The Trojans,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Saints,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Procol Harum,
the Fania All-Stars,
Radio Birdman,
Arcadia,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Piero Umiliani,
Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway.
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.