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 Niger and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 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 Graham Central Station to the funk 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 Alice Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Black Flag tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rakim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Neil Young,
Kerrie Biddell,
Donny Hathaway,
Bobby Byrd,
Smog,
Joey Negro,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Country Teasers,
Tres Demented,
Arab on Radar,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Alison Limerick,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Clear Light,
World's Most,
The Modern Lovers,
Boogie Down Productions,
10cc,
Khruangbin,
The Mummies,
Boz Scaggs,
The Sonics,
Lower 48,
The Techniques,
The Vogues,
The Count Five,
The Leaves,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Eric Copeland,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Dead C,
Monolake,
Chrome,
KRS-One,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Crispy Ambulance,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Infiniti,
FM Einheit,
Dawn Penn,
Japan,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Schoolly D,
The Smoke,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Harmonia,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Fortunes,
Iggy Pop,
Pet Shop Boys,
Sister Nancy,
Brand Nubian,
The Real Kids,
Robert Hood,
Erasure,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Electric Light Orchestra,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Suburban Knight,
R.M.O.,
Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti.
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.