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 Ethiopia and from Johannesburg.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
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 Gary Puckett & The Union Gap to the punk 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 Pharoah Sanders. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Erykah Badu record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scrapy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Motorama,
Babytalk,
Michelle Simonal,
X-Ray Spex,
Pierre Henry,
The Five Americans,
The Misunderstood,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The United States of America,
Susan Cadogan,
Jerry's Kids,
Ralphi Rosario,
ABBA,
Negative Approach,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Slick Rick,
Frankie Knuckles,
Sixth Finger,
Cymande,
Bang On A Can,
Sonic Youth,
The Cure,
Livin' Joy,
The Gap Band,
the Bar-Kays,
the Soft Cell,
Joyce Sims,
Desert Stars,
Quadrant,
Johnny Clarke,
Chris & Cosey,
The Kinks,
D'Angelo,
Johnny Osbourne,
A Certain Ratio,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Alice Coltrane,
The Zeros,
Scratch Acid,
Deadbeat,
Malaria!,
Lindisfarne,
Los Fastidios,
Harpers Bizarre,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Index,
The Modern Lovers,
The Last Poets,
Nico,
Y Pants,
Glenn Branca,
DJ Sneak,
H. Thieme,
Lalo Schifrin,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Rekid,
Sam Rivers,
Derrick May,
Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja, Jeru the Damaja.
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.