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 Yemen and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Taipei.
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 Robert Palmer 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 Throbbing Gristle to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Sun City Girls. All the underground hits.
All Hasil Adkins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Terry 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James Chance & The Contortions record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scan 7,
Lou Reed,
Grey Daturas,
Bang On A Can,
Kurtis Blow,
The Beau Brummels,
Heaven 17,
F. McDonald,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Pole,
Derrick Morgan,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Doors,
Cheater Slicks,
Judy Mowatt,
Niagra,
B.T. Express,
Slave,
Lalann,
Morten Harket,
AZ,
Wire,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Pantytec,
Kenny Larkin,
The Moleskins,
Country Teasers,
New York Dolls,
Bronski Beat,
The United States of America,
Reuben Wilson,
Ponytail,
Juan Atkins,
Jeff Lynne,
Gabor Szabo,
Dennis Brown,
Arcadia,
Sonic Youth,
Sparks,
Cal Tjader,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Peter and Kerry,
Electric Prunes,
Aural Exciters,
Gil Scott Heron,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Brothers Johnson,
Big Daddy Kane,
Vainqueur,
Deadbeat,
Visage,
Sight & Sound,
Soul II Soul,
Blake Baxter,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Clear Light,
Kerrie Biddell,
Lou Christie,
UT,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Neu!,
K-Klass,
Lyres,
The Last Poets, The Last Poets, The Last Poets, The Last Poets.
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.