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 Portland.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Visage to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Pulsallama. All the underground hits.
All Idris Muhammad tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Faraquet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Barracudas,
DNA,
Nas,
The Motions,
Johnny Osbourne,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
China Crisis,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Neu!,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Maleditus Sound,
Funky Four + One,
Sixth Finger,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Real Kids,
Dark Day,
L. Decosne,
Donny Hathaway,
The Smoke,
Carl Craig,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Ralphi Rosario,
Bob Dylan,
Oblivians,
Jacques Brel,
Radio Birdman,
Gang Starr,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Patti Smith,
The Leaves,
Tomorrow,
Quantec,
Black Moon,
Shoche,
John Foxx,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
KRS-One,
Camouflage,
The Victims,
Al Stewart,
The Gap Band,
The Stooges,
X-102,
Q and Not U,
Byron Stingily,
Infiniti,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Jawbox,
Sun Ra,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Sex Pistols,
Terry Callier,
The Detroit Cobras,
Man Eating Sloth,
Malaria!,
Television,
Sam Rivers,
Mr. Review,
The Monks,
Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare.
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.