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 Georgia and from Seoul.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
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 The Flesh Eaters to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282. All the underground hits.
All Kool G Rap & DJ Polo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deadbeat record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sixth Finger record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
Tres Demented,
Man Parrish,
Cluster,
Crime,
Babytalk,
The Gun Club,
Delta 5,
Lakeside,
D'Angelo,
Barbara Tucker,
Peter and Kerry,
The Residents,
Chris Corsano,
The J.B.'s,
The Index,
Fad Gadget,
Quantec,
Scratch Acid,
The Gladiators,
Roy Ayers,
Motorama,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Smoke,
Yusef Lateef,
The Pretty Things,
Kurtis Blow,
Boredoms,
Pharoah Sanders,
Johnny Clarke,
Spandau Ballet,
Monks,
Lou Christie,
The Slits,
Japan,
Brand Nubian,
Amon Düül II,
Echospace,
Gong,
The Alarm Clocks,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
the Association,
F. McDonald,
Make Up,
X-Ray Spex,
Symarip,
Sällskapet,
Agent Orange,
8 Eyed Spy,
Eli Mardock,
Man Eating Sloth,
ABC,
Piero Umiliani,
Joey Negro,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Anakelly,
Franke,
The Names,
Byron Stingily,
The Gap Band,
Bush Tetras,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.