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 Switzerland and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Drive Like Jehu to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Gladiators. All the underground hits.
All Flamin' Groovies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deakin 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
The Real Kids,
The Martian,
The Gladiators,
Joe Smooth,
The Saints,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Fuzztones,
Warren Ellis,
Sonic Youth,
Oblivians,
Boredoms,
Bang On A Can,
a-ha,
Ultra Naté,
Slick Rick,
Suicide,
Wire,
Dawn Penn,
Q and Not U,
Erasure,
Grandmaster Flash,
T. Rex,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Isaac Hayes,
Aural Exciters,
The Five Americans,
Second Layer,
Eve St. Jones,
Johnny Clarke,
Flash Fearless,
Rod Modell,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Bill Wells,
Flipper,
Sugar Minott,
Joey Negro,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Music Machine,
Interpol,
Prince Buster,
Marc Almond,
Intrusion,
Davy DMX,
Judy Mowatt,
Scrapy,
Joe Finger,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
cv313,
The Leaves,
Yusef Lateef,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Danielle Patucci,
Television Personalities,
R.M.O.,
Can,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Blackbyrds,
Jawbox,
Gabor Szabo, Gabor Szabo, Gabor Szabo, Gabor Szabo.
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.