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 Tuvalu and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Inner City to the disco 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 The Sisters of Mercy. All the underground hits.
All Ajijia Myrayebe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Vladislav Delay 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Carl Craig record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mark Hollis,
The Remains,
Desert Stars,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Real Kids,
Matthew Halsall,
F. McDonald,
The Blues Magoos,
Dorothy Ashby,
Pet Shop Boys,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Delta 5,
Minny Pops,
Boogie Down Productions,
Yellowson,
the Swans,
Duran Duran,
Radiopuhelimet,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Laurel Aitken,
The Victims,
The Last Poets,
Scott Walker,
Hashim,
Bob Dylan,
Derrick Morgan,
T. Rex,
Excepter,
Eric Copeland,
Von Mondo,
Aloha Tigers,
Khruangbin,
Chris Corsano,
Public Enemy,
One Last Wish,
Harmonia,
Radio Birdman,
Jacob Miller,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Marmalade,
Suicide,
Bad Manners,
The Slackers,
Brand Nubian,
Moebius,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Fear,
Janne Schatter,
Ohio Players,
Kurtis Blow,
Television,
The Blackbyrds,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Dead Boys,
The Happenings,
Scratch Acid,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Susan Cadogan,
B.T. Express,
Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane.
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.