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 Syria and from Lagos.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Ronnie Foster to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All The Cramps tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Carl Craig record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stereo Dub,
Cheater Slicks,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Nick Fraelich,
Urselle,
The Dead C,
Matthew Bourne,
The Move,
Minny Pops,
Thompson Twins,
Hashim,
Sparks,
Sound Behaviour,
Yusef Lateef,
Q and Not U,
Josef K,
The Monks,
Hot Snakes,
Mandrill,
Index,
Prince Buster,
Boredoms,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Scion,
The Angels of Light,
Procol Harum,
Can,
Dorothy Ashby,
B.T. Express,
Oneida,
T. Rex,
Los Fastidios,
The Smoke,
Moss Icon,
The Kinks,
Agent Orange,
Ralphi Rosario,
L. Decosne,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The J.B.'s,
Duran Duran,
Stiv Bators,
Unwound,
Little Man,
Lyres,
Throbbing Gristle,
Porter Ricks,
Camouflage,
The Evens,
Kurtis Blow,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Man Parrish,
Gil Scott Heron,
H. Thieme,
Mark Hollis,
Sight & Sound,
CMW,
Harmonia,
Gang Starr,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Invisible,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon.
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.