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 Eritrea and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Copenhagen.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Letta Mbulu 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 Amazonics. All the underground hits.
All The Standells tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Johnny Osbourne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Delon & Dalcan,
Mission of Burma,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Marine Girls,
Don Cherry,
Howard Jones,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Bang On A Can,
Ultimate Spinach,
the Swans,
Ten City,
Deepchord,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Boogie Down Productions,
Roy Ayers,
Jacob Miller,
Bill Near,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Sugar Minott,
DNA,
Slick Rick,
T. Rex,
Andrew Hill,
Lyres,
Public Enemy,
A Certain Ratio,
Cybotron,
The Happenings,
The Invisible,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Mo-Dettes,
Jawbox,
The Blues Magoos,
The Smoke,
The Cure,
Gastr Del Sol,
Black Bananas,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Hasil Adkins,
The Associates,
Sister Nancy,
The Walker Brothers,
Negative Approach,
David McCallum,
Gichy Dan,
The Doors,
John Cale,
Ultravox,
Q and Not U,
Kenny Larkin,
Con Funk Shun,
Nation of Ulysses,
Grey Daturas,
John Lydon,
Banda Bassotti,
The Tremeloes,
The Gories,
The Toasters,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Maurizio,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith.
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.