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 Dominica and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Flamin' Groovies 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 Marcia Griffiths. All the underground hits.
All DNA tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bob Dylan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Los Fastidios record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
Deadbeat,
DJ Style,
The Wake,
Roger Hodgson,
Wally Richardson,
8 Eyed Spy,
New York Dolls,
The Fuzztones,
The Neon Judgement,
Gichy Dan,
Jeru the Damaja,
Iggy Pop,
Todd Terry,
Negative Approach,
Jeff Lynne,
Cal Tjader,
Grey Daturas,
Josef K,
David Bowie,
David McCallum,
Donald Byrd,
Interpol,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Anakelly,
Sun City Girls,
Average White Band,
Kayak,
Buzzcocks,
Subhumans,
Byron Stingily,
Al Stewart,
Bill Near,
Eli Mardock,
The Monks,
Radio Birdman,
The Cowsills,
The Gories,
U.S. Maple,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Stereo Dub,
Gabor Szabo,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Trojans,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Index,
The Count Five,
Excepter,
Fluxion,
Scion,
The Martian,
FM Einheit,
Youth Brigade,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Alarm Clocks,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Chris Corsano,
Ralphi Rosario,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Livin' Joy,
June of 44,
OOIOO,
The Motions, The Motions, The Motions, The Motions.
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.