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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 mellotron 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 The Motions to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Misunderstood. All the underground hits.
All The Shadows of Knight tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Flag 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Martian record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
The J.B.'s,
Pole,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Move,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Loose Ends,
The Detroit Cobras,
Dark Day,
Animal Collective,
Archie Shepp,
Bang On A Can,
L. Decosne,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Blancmange,
the Bar-Kays,
Porter Ricks,
A Certain Ratio,
Hardrive,
Jerry's Kids,
Pet Shop Boys,
kango's stein massive,
Au Pairs,
Isaac Hayes,
Kerri Chandler,
Wolf Eyes,
Y Pants,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Jeru the Damaja,
Soulsonic Force,
Mark Hollis,
Make Up,
Ultra Naté,
Little Man,
China Crisis,
Erasure,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Techniques,
Josef K,
Todd Rundgren,
Clear Light,
Laurel Aitken,
Deakin,
Robert Hood,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
These Immortal Souls,
Gang of Four,
Marc Almond,
Goldenarms,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
T. Rex,
Peter and Kerry,
Brothers Johnson,
Jacques Brel,
The Walker Brothers,
Severed Heads,
The Five Americans,
Urselle,
ABBA,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Terry Callier,
X-Ray Spex, X-Ray Spex, X-Ray Spex, X-Ray Spex.
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.