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 Uzbekistan and from Tehran.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Rosa Yemen to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Moebius. All the underground hits.
All De La Soul & Jungle Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every MC5 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Freddie Wadling record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Drexciya,
The Fortunes,
Jerry's Kids,
Nik Kershaw,
The Litter,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lungfish,
John Cale,
Gregory Isaacs,
kango's stein massive,
Stiv Bators,
Bluetip,
Negative Approach,
Black Bananas,
Throbbing Gristle,
John Holt,
Magazine,
Urselle,
Pharoah Sanders,
Simply Red,
Rakim,
Jawbox,
Lou Christie,
Pantaleimon,
Can,
Wolf Eyes,
Boz Scaggs,
Dark Day,
Accadde A,
Smog,
The Fuzztones,
Bizarre Inc.,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Brick,
The Gladiators,
One Last Wish,
Robert Hood,
Saccharine Trust,
The Beau Brummels,
Avey Tare,
The Sonics,
Lebanon Hanover,
Arcadia,
Country Teasers,
Kenny Larkin,
Deakin,
R.M.O.,
Swell Maps,
Jeru the Damaja,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Flipper,
Siglo XX,
La Düsseldorf,
These Immortal Souls,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
the Slits,
Au Pairs,
Schoolly D,
Cameo,
Nico,
Echospace, Echospace, Echospace, Echospace.
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.