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 Cape Verde and from Taipei.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx to the crunk 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 Durutti Column. All the underground hits.
All The Pretty Things tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mark Hollis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Janne Schatter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pulsallama,
Bill Near,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Pussy Galore,
Bobby Womack,
Lungfish,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Gang Gang Dance,
Unwound,
Stiv Bators,
Derrick May,
The Modern Lovers,
The Leaves,
Adolescents,
The Stooges,
Henry Cow,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Nils Olav,
Gong,
The Fugs,
Angry Samoans,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Neil Young,
Skriet,
Toni Rubio,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The New Christs,
Hasil Adkins,
Steve Hackett,
Clear Light,
The Raincoats,
Bad Manners,
Aural Exciters,
The Kinks,
Scientists,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Joe Smooth,
Shuggie Otis,
New Age Steppers,
Donny Hathaway,
Rekid,
Lucky Dragons,
Camberwell Now,
Terrestrial Tones,
World's Most,
Joe Finger,
Man Parrish,
Man Eating Sloth,
Delon & Dalcan,
CMW,
Radio Birdman,
Cameo,
Babytalk,
The Real Kids,
Oneida,
MC5,
Boogie Down Productions,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Prince Buster,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Birthday Party,
Eric Dolphy,
Scan 7,
Slave, Slave, Slave, Slave.
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.