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 Botswana and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The Slackers to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Inner City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Anthony Braxton record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters 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?
Ultra Naté,
Ralphi Rosario,
Bauhaus,
The Wake,
Roger Hodgson,
Youth Brigade,
Nation of Ulysses,
Visage,
The Sound,
Half Japanese,
Andrew Hill,
Icehouse,
Circle Jerks,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Make Up,
Fluxion,
Nils Olav,
Mission of Burma,
The Blackbyrds,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Vladislav Delay,
Pharoah Sanders,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Deadbeat,
Pere Ubu,
David McCallum,
Little Man,
Newcleus,
The Fortunes,
Fela Kuti,
Cheater Slicks,
World's Most,
Wire,
Magma,
Black Moon,
Jawbox,
La Düsseldorf,
The Black Dice,
Thee Headcoats,
The Alarm Clocks,
Suicide,
Idris Muhammad,
Boogie Down Productions,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Happenings,
Soft Machine,
Grandmaster Flash,
Minny Pops,
Bronski Beat,
Marine Girls,
The Divine Comedy,
Brand Nubian,
Kerrie Biddell,
Althea and Donna,
Yellowson,
Prince Buster,
Aaron Thompson,
Lalann,
Mo-Dettes,
Tears for Fears,
Ten City,
the Sonics,
The Barracudas,
Funkadelic, Funkadelic, Funkadelic, Funkadelic.
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.