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 Tanzania and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Pharoah Sanders to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Lizzy Mercier Descloux. All the underground hits.
All Marcia Griffiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Banda Bassotti 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an oboe 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 güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Stooges,
Wolf Eyes,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Bill Wells,
Rosa Yemen,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Robert Wyatt,
X-Ray Spex,
Spandau Ballet,
Matthew Halsall,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Count Five,
Index,
Arcadia,
The Misunderstood,
Schoolly D,
Intrusion,
New Order,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Kayak,
Eli Mardock,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Robert Hood,
Brick,
Los Fastidios,
Moebius,
Franke,
The Seeds,
Magma,
Reuben Wilson,
Pulsallama,
the Fania All-Stars,
Dennis Brown,
Radio Birdman,
Danielle Patucci,
Accadde A,
Panda Bear,
Blake Baxter,
Roxy Music,
Banda Bassotti,
The Smoke,
Scientists,
Siglo XX,
Thompson Twins,
Anthony Braxton,
Guru Guru,
Mr. Review,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Quando Quango,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Walker Brothers,
Parry Music,
Rakim,
Drexciya,
James White and The Blacks,
Quantec,
Marine Girls,
Brass Construction,
The Real Kids,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.