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 Bangladesh and from Spokane.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Spokane.
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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Mary Jane Girls 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 Sun Ra Arkestra. All the underground hits.
All Dual Sessions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fortunes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Livin' Joy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sam Rivers,
Chrome,
Wolf Eyes,
Gabor Szabo,
Nick Fraelich,
Minny Pops,
Cameo,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Das Ding,
In Retrospect,
T.S.O.L.,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Grandmaster Flash,
Crispy Ambulance,
Glambeats Corp.,
Stetsasonic,
the Fania All-Stars,
Severed Heads,
Agent Orange,
Sun City Girls,
Surgeon,
Skaos,
Ronan,
The Blackbyrds,
Aaron Thompson,
London Community Gospel Choir,
DNA,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Marcia Griffiths,
Black Pus,
the Swans,
F. McDonald,
Black Flag,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Doors,
Charles Mingus,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Kerri Chandler,
John Cale,
Davy DMX,
Electric Light Orchestra,
the Sonics,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Fortunes,
Clear Light,
Sugar Minott,
Neu!,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Livin' Joy,
Radiopuhelimet,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Suburban Knight,
John Foxx,
Junior Murvin,
Royal Trux,
E-Dancer,
Wally Richardson,
Albert Ayler,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Searchers,
Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys.
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.