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 Ireland and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 mellotron 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 Black Bananas to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Searchers. All the underground hits.
All Liaisons Dangereuses tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Magma record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gregory Isaacs,
Bill Near,
The Sonics,
Surgeon,
Agitation Free,
Electric Prunes,
Suicide,
The Stooges,
Khruangbin,
Ossler,
The Moleskins,
Moss Icon,
Gang Starr,
Blake Baxter,
Marcia Griffiths,
Gil Scott Heron,
The New Christs,
Kerri Chandler,
Warren Ellis,
Sight & Sound,
Lalo Schifrin,
Index,
L. Decosne,
Spandau Ballet,
Yusef Lateef,
Cymande,
Magma,
Fad Gadget,
Camouflage,
Organ,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Technova,
The Detroit Cobras,
Rosa Yemen,
The Five Americans,
The Gun Club,
The Golliwogs,
Quadrant,
Black Pus,
Excepter,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Bob Dylan,
DNA,
Camberwell Now,
Clear Light,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Underground Resistance,
Buzzcocks,
Gong,
Cal Tjader,
Radio Birdman,
X-101,
Supertramp,
Jacob Miller,
Soul II Soul,
Slick Rick,
Public Image Ltd.,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Young Marble Giants,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Gastr Del Sol,
The United States of America, The United States of America, The United States of America, The United States of America.
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.