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 Equatorial Guinea and from Glasgow.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 spring reverb 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 Angry Samoans to the electroclash 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 Minor Threat. All the underground hits.
All Stockholm Monsters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Khruangbin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Pus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Malaria!,
The Grass Roots,
Skarface,
Quantec,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Evens,
Todd Rundgren,
Thompson Twins,
Morten Harket,
H. Thieme,
Joensuu 1685,
Don Cherry,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Crooked Eye,
Franke,
Dave Gahan,
The Seeds,
Wally Richardson,
Television,
Gang Green,
Siglo XX,
Spoonie Gee,
Ice-T,
The Victims,
Bizarre Inc.,
Rotary Connection,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
AZ,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Index,
The American Breed,
The Human League,
Symarip,
The Slits,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Youth Brigade,
Soul II Soul,
The Monks,
Peter & Gordon,
Schoolly D,
Zero Boys,
Darondo,
The Durutti Column,
Lungfish,
Roxy Music,
Infiniti,
Bill Near,
The Gladiators,
Altered Images,
Porter Ricks,
The Dead C,
The Motions,
OOIOO,
Agent Orange,
Leonard Cohen,
Minnie Riperton,
Von Mondo,
Lee Hazlewood,
Dual Sessions,
Massinfluence,
Icehouse,
Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon.
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.