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 Bangladesh and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Eve St. Jones to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Depeche Mode. All the underground hits.
All Second Layer tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every R.M.O. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Frankie Knuckles record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Johnny Osbourne,
Sam Rivers,
Das Ding,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Soft Cell,
Soulsonic Force,
Monolake,
Lebanon Hanover,
DJ Sneak,
The Music Machine,
Marshall Jefferson,
Joyce Sims,
Parry Music,
Moby Grape,
The Real Kids,
Sonic Youth,
Massinfluence,
Rakim,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Ohio Players,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Flamin' Groovies,
Electric Prunes,
Aural Exciters,
Lou Christie,
Bobby Sherman,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Alice Coltrane,
The Sonics,
Symarip,
Siglo XX,
Bill Wells,
The Names,
Kurtis Blow,
The Remains,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Half Japanese,
The Kinks,
The Slackers,
Hoover,
Stiv Bators,
Susan Cadogan,
Dennis Brown,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Bob Dylan,
Black Sheep,
the Sonics,
Yazoo,
Echospace,
The Last Poets,
Girls At Our Best!,
Al Stewart,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Fortunes,
Crooked Eye,
The Dirtbombs,
X-Ray Spex,
Fat Boys,
The Victims,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.