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 Paraguay and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 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 Terrestrial Tones to the rock 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 Louis and Bebe Barron. All the underground hits.
All The Cure tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Soul II Soul record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Cheater Slicks,
Minnie Riperton,
F. McDonald,
Ituana,
Juan Atkins,
Charles Mingus,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Moody Blues,
Boredoms,
Wasted Youth,
Iggy Pop,
Zapp,
Amon Düül,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Joensuu 1685,
Faraquet,
Lou Christie,
Scan 7,
Throbbing Gristle,
Joey Negro,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Last Poets,
The Gap Band,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Stetsasonic,
Black Pus,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Quando Quango,
the Association,
Robert Wyatt,
Sound Behaviour,
Symarip,
Susan Cadogan,
Pussy Galore,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Barracudas,
Blake Baxter,
The Monks,
Con Funk Shun,
Mr. Review,
The Names,
Average White Band,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Malaria!,
Davy DMX,
Grandmaster Flash,
Q and Not U,
The Gun Club,
Bill Near,
Neil Young,
Fugazi,
Circle Jerks,
Royal Trux,
The Tremeloes,
Pet Shop Boys,
Whodini,
Roxy Music,
The Divine Comedy,
R.M.O.,
The Mojo Men,
Can,
Masters at Work,
Zero Boys, Zero Boys, Zero Boys, Zero Boys.
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.