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 Morocco and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Aaron Thompson to the rock 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 F. McDonald. All the underground hits.
All Malaria! tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hoover record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a theremin 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 güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Infiniti,
Big Daddy Kane,
Angry Samoans,
Crime,
Gerry Rafferty,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Black Dice,
Scratch Acid,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Albert Ayler,
The Slackers,
Marcia Griffiths,
Sex Pistols,
The Last Poets,
Unwound,
Slick Rick,
Das Ding,
Minny Pops,
Lakeside,
Organ,
Anthony Braxton,
Eric Dolphy,
Eddi Front,
Suburban Knight,
Nas,
Anakelly,
The Zeros,
Lightning Bolt,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Offenders,
The New Christs,
John Holt,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Soul Sonic Force,
Avey Tare,
The Knickerbockers,
Sexual Harrassment,
Isaac Hayes,
Visage,
Flash Fearless,
The Young Rascals,
Fluxion,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Mission of Burma,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Junior Murvin,
Mantronix,
Lebanon Hanover,
Judy Mowatt,
Interpol,
The Blackbyrds,
Bobby Sherman,
The Doobie Brothers,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Theoretical Girls,
Hasil Adkins,
Roxette,
Alton Ellis,
Wally Richardson,
Fugazi,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.