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 Cairo.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Pagans to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All The Smiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Youth Brigade record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rakim,
The Index,
Cymande,
Yazoo,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Frankie Knuckles,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Faraquet,
Arab on Radar,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Tim Buckley,
This Heat,
The Moody Blues,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Sun Ra,
Skriet,
Smog,
Surgeon,
Ken Boothe,
Prince Buster,
The Dirtbombs,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Man Parrish,
Whodini,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Monks,
The Count Five,
Brick,
Morten Harket,
the Human League,
Clear Light,
Q and Not U,
Blancmange,
Fela Kuti,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Scientists,
Monolake,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Babytalk,
Eric Copeland,
Maleditus Sound,
Tomorrow,
E-Dancer,
Funkadelic,
Country Teasers,
Masters at Work,
Pantaleimon,
the Germs,
Camouflage,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
a-ha,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Grauzone,
Circle Jerks,
48th St. Collective,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
the Sonics,
The Sonics,
Inner City,
the Bar-Kays,
Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith.
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.