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 Honduras and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Sonny Sharrock to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Jesus and Mary Chain. All the underground hits.
All Albert Ayler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minutemen record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tomorrow record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fall,
Flipper,
Stereo Dub,
Spoonie Gee,
Albert Ayler,
Tom Boy,
Tears for Fears,
The Fortunes,
The Raincoats,
Scientists,
Can,
KRS-One,
Alison Limerick,
Morten Harket,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Residents,
Yazoo,
Liliput,
Dorothy Ashby,
the Germs,
The Victims,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Fire Engines,
Soft Cell,
Pierre Henry,
Joe Smooth,
Matthew Halsall,
Thompson Twins,
New York Dolls,
Connie Case,
Ituana,
Chris & Cosey,
Ossler,
Pet Shop Boys,
Scan 7,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Funkadelic,
June of 44,
Gerry Rafferty,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
the Fania All-Stars,
Tubeway Army,
Duran Duran,
Tim Buckley,
Donald Byrd,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Bill Wells,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Mars,
The Music Machine,
Mark Hollis,
Swell Maps,
Henry Cow,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Ralphi Rosario,
Rapeman,
Robert Wyatt,
Intrusion,
The United States of America,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Nas,
Scion, Scion, Scion, Scion.
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.