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 Tajikistan and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 güiro 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 Ronnie Foster to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Lou Reed & Metallica. All the underground hits.
All Angry Samoans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 a harpsichord and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispy Ambulance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Skatalites,
Metal Thangz,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
A Certain Ratio,
The Slits,
Gabor Szabo,
La Düsseldorf,
Barry Ungar,
Moby Grape,
Con Funk Shun,
Sun Ra,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Detroit Cobras,
Agent Orange,
The Knickerbockers,
Lee Hazlewood,
Matthew Halsall,
Khruangbin,
David Axelrod,
CMW,
Brick,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
James White and The Blacks,
Don Cherry,
The Cramps,
Ten City,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Sugar Minott,
Letta Mbulu,
Eli Mardock,
Wally Richardson,
Pussy Galore,
Alton Ellis,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Pet Shop Boys,
Alice Coltrane,
Barrington Levy,
Sexual Harrassment,
Animal Collective,
The Index,
The Shadows of Knight,
Scientists,
the Bar-Kays,
Maurizio,
Peter & Gordon,
Youth Brigade,
Young Marble Giants,
The Toasters,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Arab on Radar,
Fatback Band,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Crooked Eye,
Todd Rundgren,
China Crisis,
Rhythm & Sound,
Scrapy,
Thee Headcoats,
Sarah Menescal,
Index,
Glenn Branca,
Echo & the Bunnymen, Echo & the Bunnymen, Echo & the Bunnymen, Echo & the Bunnymen.
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.