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 Suriname and from Cairo.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 A Certain Ratio to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Skarface. All the underground hits.
All Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Doors 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Invisible record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minnie Riperton,
U.S. Maple,
X-102,
Pussy Galore,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Camberwell Now,
Archie Shepp,
Tim Buckley,
Tomorrow,
Lindisfarne,
The Zeros,
Barrington Levy,
Cameo,
Clear Light,
Darondo,
Robert Görl,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Talk Talk,
Bill Near,
The Fortunes,
Franke,
Scan 7,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
EPMD,
The Count Five,
Marine Girls,
The Music Machine,
Jawbox,
Electric Prunes,
The Moody Blues,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Shoche,
Ponytail,
Excepter,
Accadde A,
The Invisible,
Patti Smith,
Gerry Rafferty,
Iggy Pop,
Mandrill,
Oblivians,
Swans,
The Electric Prunes,
June of 44,
Dark Day,
Au Pairs,
The Smiths,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Hot Snakes,
The Seeds,
Marvin Gaye,
Metal Thangz,
Gang Gang Dance,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Sex Pistols,
Agent Orange,
The Busters,
Pierre Henry,
Sugar Minott,
Sun City Girls,
The Selecter, The Selecter, The Selecter, The Selecter.
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.