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 Barbados and from Beijing.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Smoke to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All The Detroit Cobras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Newcleus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Spandau Ballet,
The Doors,
The Mummies,
DNA,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Dave Clark Five,
Susan Cadogan,
The Flesh Eaters,
Sonic Youth,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Index,
Chris Corsano,
Radio Birdman,
Lou Christie,
Lee Hazlewood,
Nils Olav,
Sam Rivers,
Boz Scaggs,
The Saints,
The Grass Roots,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bill Wells,
Rekid,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
X-Ray Spex,
Patti Smith,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
OOIOO,
Henry Cow,
John Cale,
Ludus,
La Düsseldorf,
Leonard Cohen,
Stiv Bators,
Talk Talk,
Franke,
Avey Tare,
Camberwell Now,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Dirtbombs,
Stetsasonic,
Erasure,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Misunderstood,
Joe Smooth,
Donny Hathaway,
Tim Buckley,
John Lydon,
Cheater Slicks,
Shoche,
Rotary Connection,
The Evens,
Fad Gadget,
Popol Vuh,
Simply Red,
Gabor Szabo,
Laurel Aitken,
Robert Hood,
Moss Icon,
Black Bananas,
The Remains,
Lyres,
Groovy Waters,
Swans, Swans, Swans, Swans.
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.