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 Panama and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1967 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the clarinet 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 The Modern Lovers to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Cowsills. All the underground hits.
All Jeru the Damaja tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Masters at Work record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Excepter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Pantaleimon,
Cymande,
Donald Byrd,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Eric B and Rakim,
Darondo,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Make Up,
Ultimate Spinach,
Monolake,
Letta Mbulu,
The Mummies,
Rites of Spring,
Bobby Byrd,
Tim Buckley,
Kenny Larkin,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Accadde A,
The Residents,
Depeche Mode,
Procol Harum,
Scratch Acid,
The Names,
The Kinks,
Black Pus,
Masters at Work,
F. McDonald,
Minny Pops,
Young Marble Giants,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Maurizio,
Magazine,
Fela Kuti,
The Five Americans,
Bush Tetras,
The Vogues,
Matthew Bourne,
The Dead C,
Black Moon,
Con Funk Shun,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Alphaville,
The Seeds,
the Human League,
Eden Ahbez,
Suburban Knight,
Hashim,
Swans,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Flamin' Groovies,
Funkadelic,
Franke,
Bauhaus,
Unwound,
the Bar-Kays,
Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman.
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.