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 Montenegro 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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the sitar 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 Men They Couldn't Hang to the rock kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Bobbi Humphrey. All the underground hits.
All Slick Rick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mark Hollis 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ludus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Alarm Clocks,
Faust,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Panda Bear,
F. McDonald,
Ronnie Foster,
Qualms,
The Smoke,
Soul II Soul,
Grandmaster Flash,
Gang of Four,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Fat Boys,
Rekid,
The Moody Blues,
Matthew Bourne,
Liliput,
Laurel Aitken,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
New York Dolls,
Yazoo,
Bobby Sherman,
Gong,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Flesh Eaters,
Andrew Hill,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Electric Prunes,
The Trojans,
Gil Scott Heron,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Kas Product,
Bad Manners,
Ornette Coleman,
The Searchers,
Pierre Henry,
Graham Central Station,
Harmonia,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Alice Coltrane,
Sex Pistols,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Talk Talk,
The American Breed,
Kerri Chandler,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
David Axelrod,
The Saints,
Wire,
Bush Tetras,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Cure,
The Star Department,
Pylon,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Mad Mike,
Negative Approach,
Suicide,
Whodini, Whodini, Whodini, Whodini.
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.