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 Sierra Leone and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the oboe 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 Gang Starr to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. All the underground hits.
All Al Stewart tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Little Man record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crooked Eye record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
JFA,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Detroit Cobras,
Hoover,
The Residents,
The Victims,
cv313,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
the Swans,
The American Breed,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
The Young Rascals,
Derrick Morgan,
Sandy B,
Groovy Waters,
The Barracudas,
L. Decosne,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Toni Rubio,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Jeff Mills,
Y Pants,
Country Teasers,
Michelle Simonal,
X-101,
The United States of America,
The Gun Club,
John Cale,
Kerri Chandler,
Lungfish,
FM Einheit,
The J.B.'s,
Wolf Eyes,
Susan Cadogan,
The Blues Magoos,
Reagan Youth,
The Dirtbombs,
Ralphi Rosario,
Bill Near,
Royal Trux,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Althea and Donna,
Pole,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Dawn Penn,
Livin' Joy,
U.S. Maple,
The Smoke,
Index,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Throbbing Gristle,
Fad Gadget,
Marshall Jefferson,
Joey Negro,
The Electric Prunes,
The Fugs,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Bobby Byrd,
Easy Going,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Laurel Aitken,
the Bar-Kays,
Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science, Crash Course in Science.
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.