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 Marshall Islands and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the snare 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 Wolf Eyes to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 The Birthday Party. All the underground hits.
All Cecil Taylor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Fania All-Stars record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 spring reverb and a linndrum 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 organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
Bluetip,
Judy Mowatt,
Chrome,
Inner City,
The Martian,
Don Cherry,
Gastr Del Sol,
Matthew Halsall,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Beau Brummels,
The Human League,
Boredoms,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Jacob Miller,
Drive Like Jehu,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Red Krayola,
Junior Murvin,
Magazine,
Bobby Womack,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Raincoats,
Kerrie Biddell,
FM Einheit,
Quantec,
Yaz,
Robert Hood,
The Moleskins,
Colin Newman,
Y Pants,
Tears for Fears,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Joensuu 1685,
Al Stewart,
Scion,
The United States of America,
Man Parrish,
Hot Snakes,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Motorama,
Parry Music,
Lebanon Hanover,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Dorothy Ashby,
Procol Harum,
Ken Boothe,
the Germs,
Excepter,
Bauhaus,
The Moody Blues,
Girls At Our Best!,
Symarip,
Slick Rick,
Harry Pussy,
Donny Hathaway,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Aswad,
Yusef Lateef,
Scrapy,
Letta Mbulu,
Hashim,
Public Image Ltd.,
Stockholm Monsters,
Cameo, Cameo, Cameo, Cameo.
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.