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 Albania and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Animal Collective. All the underground hits.
All Yusef Lateef tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Byron Stingily record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sixth Finger,
Outsiders,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Roxette,
The Star Department,
Marmalade,
Duran Duran,
The Seeds,
The Monks,
Robert Hood,
Moebius,
Mr. Review,
Juan Atkins,
World's Most,
Severed Heads,
Junior Murvin,
Dorothy Ashby,
Cameo,
Icehouse,
Wolf Eyes,
F. McDonald,
Y Pants,
Fat Boys,
The Techniques,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Intrusion,
Urselle,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The American Breed,
James White and The Blacks,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Rosa Yemen,
Ultimate Spinach,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Ronan,
Hardrive,
Black Sheep,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Yaz,
Radiopuhelimet,
Scratch Acid,
ABBA,
Soft Machine,
Babytalk,
Michelle Simonal,
Massinfluence,
Shuggie Otis,
Roxy Music,
Isaac Hayes,
John Cale,
Skarface,
The Kinks,
Archie Shepp,
Liliput,
These Immortal Souls,
Rotary Connection,
The Sound,
Angry Samoans,
Radio Birdman,
Pylon,
The Gories,
Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones.
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.