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 Zimbabwe and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Laurel Aitken to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Count Five. All the underground hits.
All Vladislav Delay tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Smiths record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bush Tetras,
Camouflage,
The Black Dice,
Janne Schatter,
Make Up,
Amon Düül,
Outsiders,
Audionom,
Ohio Players,
Derrick May,
Bobby Byrd,
Harry Pussy,
8 Eyed Spy,
Royal Trux,
Bill Near,
Parry Music,
Heaven 17,
The Gun Club,
Angry Samoans,
Crispian St. Peters,
Aswad,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Black Bananas,
Nils Olav,
Marvin Gaye,
Interpol,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Grey Daturas,
Schoolly D,
Robert Wyatt,
Technova,
The Red Krayola,
The Slackers,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Cowsills,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Tom Boy,
Pylon,
Intrusion,
Arthur Verocai,
Talk Talk,
The American Breed,
Soft Machine,
T. Rex,
Flash Fearless,
R.M.O.,
Lucky Dragons,
Wolf Eyes,
Man Parrish,
Stetsasonic,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Tomorrow,
Spandau Ballet,
the Soft Cell,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Yazoo,
Minnie Riperton,
Minor Threat,
Dave Gahan,
The Fortunes,
Gong, Gong, Gong, Gong.
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.