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 Iceland and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
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 Junior Murvin to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Excepter. All the underground hits.
All Letta Mbulu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Albert Ayler 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 harpsichord and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Swell Maps record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jeff Mills,
Jeru the Damaja,
Idris Muhammad,
Glenn Branca,
Soft Cell,
Warsaw,
Duran Duran,
Tubeway Army,
Magazine,
Charles Mingus,
Tom Boy,
Howard Jones,
Quando Quango,
Albert Ayler,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Bad Manners,
Alice Coltrane,
The Searchers,
Kool Moe Dee,
Morten Harket,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Arthur Verocai,
The Invisible,
F. McDonald,
Moebius,
The Smiths,
Letta Mbulu,
Franke,
Sister Nancy,
Blake Baxter,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Slits,
Stiv Bators,
Lakeside,
Aural Exciters,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Girls At Our Best!,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Moody Blues,
Jawbox,
Symarip,
The Litter,
Vainqueur,
Marvin Gaye,
Agent Orange,
The Fuzztones,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Pylon,
Junior Murvin,
Crispian St. Peters,
T. Rex,
Bill Wells,
Royal Trux,
Big Daddy Kane,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Banda Bassotti,
John Holt,
Scratch Acid,
Roxy Music,
B.T. Express,
Donny Hathaway,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.