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 Macedonia and from Madrid.
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 Beijing and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Agent Orange to the grunge 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 The Beau Brummels. All the underground hits.
All Scion tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mr. Review record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an organ and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donny Hathaway record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rites of Spring,
Black Pus,
Crispy Ambulance,
Easy Going,
Steve Hackett,
The Pop Group,
Sight & Sound,
Mad Mike,
Dawn Penn,
Second Layer,
Flamin' Groovies,
Laurel Aitken,
Glenn Branca,
The Neon Judgement,
Swans,
Underground Resistance,
Radiopuhelimet,
Pantaleimon,
Saccharine Trust,
Joy Division,
Don Cherry,
Buzzcocks,
Circle Jerks,
One Last Wish,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Aural Exciters,
Ultimate Spinach,
Wasted Youth,
Groovy Waters,
Funkadelic,
June of 44,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Suicide,
Mantronix,
Soulsonic Force,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Lightning Bolt,
Avey Tare,
The Sound,
Lalo Schifrin,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Camberwell Now,
The Flesh Eaters,
Joe Smooth,
Gang of Four,
Quando Quango,
Susan Cadogan,
Terry Callier,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Fuzztones,
Amazonics,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Mr. Review,
Jawbox,
Gastr Del Sol,
Bootsy Collins,
Althea and Donna,
Terrestrial Tones,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Gun Club,
Nas, Nas, Nas, Nas.
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.