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 Botswana and from Jakarta.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gang Green to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 John Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacques Brel 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 an arpeggiator and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Alphaville record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hot Snakes,
Drive Like Jehu,
Freddie Wadling,
Pharoah Sanders,
Leonard Cohen,
Slave,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ituana,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
One Last Wish,
Reagan Youth,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Faust,
Spoonie Gee,
Dawn Penn,
Flash Fearless,
Boredoms,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sixth Finger,
Index,
Moby Grape,
Desert Stars,
Brand Nubian,
Niagra,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Fortunes,
Zero Boys,
Sound Behaviour,
Gang Gang Dance,
the Bar-Kays,
Kenny Larkin,
Buzzcocks,
Piero Umiliani,
Mandrill,
Q and Not U,
Magma,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Gories,
Stetsasonic,
Circle Jerks,
Adolescents,
Yazoo,
Roxy Music,
Tubeway Army,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Erasure,
The Electric Prunes,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Pierre Henry,
Porter Ricks,
Swans,
Mark Hollis,
The Fuzztones,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
the Sonics,
48th St. Collective,
Infiniti,
Rod Modell,
The Divine Comedy,
Oneida,
LL Cool J, LL Cool J, LL Cool J, LL Cool J.
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.