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 Cambodia and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 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 Severed Heads to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Dave Clark Five. All the underground hits.
All Johnny Clarke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Panda Bear 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Freddie Wadling,
Gerry Rafferty,
Nirvana,
The Busters,
The Leaves,
Radiohead,
Theoretical Girls,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
the Fania All-Stars,
Brick,
Tears for Fears,
The Smiths,
The Beau Brummels,
Davy DMX,
Matthew Halsall,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Unrelated Segments,
Jacob Miller,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Happenings,
Connie Case,
Colin Newman,
Gabor Szabo,
Gang of Four,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Todd Terry,
One Last Wish,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Dennis Brown,
The Cramps,
Yellowson,
The Kinks,
Cecil Taylor,
Henry Cow,
Peter & Gordon,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
PIL,
Harry Pussy,
Sixth Finger,
Albert Ayler,
Wally Richardson,
Lower 48,
Andrew Hill,
Banda Bassotti,
Soft Cell,
Wolf Eyes,
Inner City,
MC5,
Rod Modell,
The Toasters,
The Gun Club,
Yaz,
Lou Reed,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Chris Corsano,
Ludus,
Fatback Band,
The Litter,
Blake Baxter,
Technova,
The Index,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.