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 Chile and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gabor Szabo to the grunge 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 Johnny Clarke. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ossler record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Intrusion,
Urselle,
Surgeon,
Amazonics,
Susan Cadogan,
E-Dancer,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Last Poets,
Sarah Menescal,
Scientists,
Jeru the Damaja,
Graham Central Station,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Ornette Coleman,
Ronan,
Albert Ayler,
Boz Scaggs,
Gang of Four,
Lalo Schifrin,
Todd Terry,
DJ Sneak,
The Cramps,
The Raincoats,
Cluster,
John Holt,
DNA,
Aural Exciters,
Warren Ellis,
Pussy Galore,
Chris Corsano,
Anthony Braxton,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Joe Finger,
Swans,
Television,
Andrew Hill,
Beasts of Bourbon,
La Düsseldorf,
The Black Dice,
Hardrive,
Neil Young,
The Moleskins,
Deepchord,
The Dirtbombs,
Gregory Isaacs,
Godley & Creme,
The Busters,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Delon & Dalcan,
Gang Starr,
Althea and Donna,
Grey Daturas,
Drive Like Jehu,
Bobby Sherman,
Jandek,
Scratch Acid,
Unwound,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Sonny Sharrock,
New Order,
Soft Cell,
Babytalk,
Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown.
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.