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 Mexico 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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ 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 Art Ensemble Of Chicago to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Country Teasers. All the underground hits.
All Gregory Isaacs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Star Department 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monolake,
DNA,
Hashim,
Nirvana,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
China Crisis,
T.S.O.L.,
Radio Birdman,
The Flesh Eaters,
Parry Music,
Traffic Nightmare,
Joe Smooth,
Bill Wells,
Sällskapet,
Cymande,
The Five Americans,
Judy Mowatt,
Crooked Eye,
Kenny Larkin,
Peter & Gordon,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
KRS-One,
Lalann,
Marcia Griffiths,
Rites of Spring,
Derrick May,
Duran Duran,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Litter,
Black Sheep,
Josef K,
Sound Behaviour,
Icehouse,
Half Japanese,
Moby Grape,
Sam Rivers,
Andrew Hill,
Basic Channel,
the Soft Cell,
Accadde A,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Cal Tjader,
Kayak,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Gories,
Magazine,
a-ha,
Sandy B,
The Cure,
The Slackers,
Surgeon,
Stetsasonic,
The Dirtbombs,
The Star Department,
Public Image Ltd.,
Warren Ellis,
June Days,
Funkadelic,
Wolf Eyes,
Interpol,
Quando Quango,
The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks.
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.