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 Senegal and from Winnipeg.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Idris Muhammad to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Grass Roots. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Traffic Nightmare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fela Kuti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Holt,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Joensuu 1685,
Yusef Lateef,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Tom Boy,
Avey Tare,
The Monks,
Byron Stingily,
A Certain Ratio,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Fela Kuti,
Crime,
Saccharine Trust,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Malaria!,
Pylon,
Aural Exciters,
Clear Light,
The Misunderstood,
Funky Four + One,
Lucky Dragons,
The Real Kids,
Johnny Osbourne,
Ice-T,
X-102,
Surgeon,
DJ Sneak,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Blancmange,
Ponytail,
Idris Muhammad,
Arthur Verocai,
Los Fastidios,
Crash Course in Science,
OOIOO,
Sun City Girls,
Masters at Work,
New Order,
David Bowie,
10cc,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Jacques Brel,
The Searchers,
Q65,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Dorothy Ashby,
Joe Finger,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Minutemen,
Gil Scott Heron,
Gang Green,
Isaac Hayes,
Symarip,
Porter Ricks,
Rekid,
Loose Ends,
The Toasters,
Scott Walker,
Cheater Slicks,
Minnie Riperton,
The Fortunes,
Qualms, Qualms, Qualms, Qualms.
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.