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 Korea South and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the 808 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 Soul II Soul to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Iggy Pop. All the underground hits.
All Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang of Four record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Duran Duran,
Prince Buster,
Scratch Acid,
The Black Dice,
Jeff Mills,
These Immortal Souls,
The Red Krayola,
New York Dolls,
Letta Mbulu,
Neil Young,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Bill Wells,
Andrew Hill,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Stockholm Monsters,
Gong,
Fluxion,
The Electric Prunes,
Hoover,
Jandek,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Althea and Donna,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Arthur Verocai,
Lucky Dragons,
Spoonie Gee,
Eurythmics,
Bobby Sherman,
Reuben Wilson,
June Days,
Stiv Bators,
Babytalk,
Bootsy Collins,
Cybotron,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Eve St. Jones,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Techniques,
Sixth Finger,
a-ha,
Barbara Tucker,
Niagra,
The Toasters,
The Happenings,
Erasure,
Funkadelic,
Don Cherry,
The Modern Lovers,
Fear,
Jerry's Kids,
Kurtis Blow,
DJ Sneak,
Kool Moe Dee,
Mr. Review,
Gang of Four,
Tropical Tobacco,
Underground Resistance,
The Flesh Eaters,
Soulsonic Force,
Ten City, Ten City, Ten City, Ten City.
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.