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 Gabon and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 synthesizer 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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the jazz 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 Man Eating Sloth. All the underground hits.
All Morten Harket tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every DJ Style record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Magazine,
Lalann,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Pulsallama,
Suburban Knight,
B.T. Express,
48th St. Collective,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Reagan Youth,
Wire,
The Smiths,
Gichy Dan,
Roxy Music,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Minny Pops,
The New Christs,
Fad Gadget,
Agitation Free,
Little Man,
The Detroit Cobras,
Slave,
Jandek,
The Monks,
Tres Demented,
The Index,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Gang Green,
K-Klass,
The Saints,
Dorothy Ashby,
Archie Shepp,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Fortunes,
Wings,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Vladislav Delay,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Anakelly,
The Doobie Brothers,
Stetsasonic,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Yusef Lateef,
Roxette,
CMW,
Dawn Penn,
Joey Negro,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Average White Band,
Neu!,
The Music Machine,
Pantaleimon,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Los Fastidios,
The Names,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Marc Almond,
Quadrant,
X-Ray Spex,
Young Marble Giants,
Spandau Ballet,
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.