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 Tanzania and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 Woodstock and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Livin' Joy to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Michelle Simonal. All the underground hits.
All The Angels of Light tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispy Ambulance record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 spring reverb and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sam Rivers,
Popol Vuh,
Quando Quango,
Fela Kuti,
Roxy Music,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Malaria!,
June of 44,
D'Angelo,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Dave Clark Five,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Lower 48,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Reagan Youth,
Dawn Penn,
Juan Atkins,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Heaven 17,
Mission of Burma,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Harry Pussy,
KRS-One,
The Stooges,
The United States of America,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Matthew Bourne,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Kinks,
Jeff Mills,
B.T. Express,
Flash Fearless,
Pole,
Con Funk Shun,
Joey Negro,
The American Breed,
Max Romeo,
Pierre Henry,
Patti Smith,
The Motions,
This Heat,
Johnny Clarke,
Tres Demented,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Jerry's Kids,
Pussy Galore,
Duran Duran,
Aaron Thompson,
Shoche,
Grey Daturas,
Los Fastidios,
The Happenings,
Supertramp,
Spoonie Gee,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Albert Ayler,
The Electric Prunes,
The Barracudas,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Names,
Aswad,
Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz.
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.