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 Vietnam and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Jakarta.
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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Cure. All the underground hits.
All Wolf Eyes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bootsy's Rubber Band 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Durutti Column record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
The American Breed,
Wire,
Theoretical Girls,
Saccharine Trust,
Bauhaus,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Tres Demented,
Neil Young,
Vladislav Delay,
Camberwell Now,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Index,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Scratch Acid,
MC5,
Jacques Brel,
New York Dolls,
Matthew Bourne,
Kerrie Biddell,
Pantaleimon,
the Bar-Kays,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Radiopuhelimet,
Newcleus,
Pole,
Marvin Gaye,
Eric B and Rakim,
Davy DMX,
Deadbeat,
Tropical Tobacco,
Warren Ellis,
Motorama,
Guru Guru,
June of 44,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Anakelly,
E-Dancer,
Animal Collective,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Nick Fraelich,
Matthew Halsall,
Eric Dolphy,
China Crisis,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Man Parrish,
Talk Talk,
Connie Case,
The Modern Lovers,
The Motions,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Fall,
Henry Cow,
Dawn Penn,
Wolf Eyes,
Swell Maps,
Altered Images,
Cymande,
Ituana,
the Association,
The Sound,
Sixth Finger,
Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig.
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.