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 Serbia and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Glasgow.
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 clarinet 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 Idris Muhammad to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Pulsallama. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every ABBA record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roy Ayers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mark Hollis,
Desert Stars,
Joe Finger,
The Velvet Underground,
The Skatalites,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Index,
The Busters,
Derrick May,
Cluster,
Chrome,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Gang Starr,
Josef K,
Swans,
Bob Dylan,
Black Pus,
Clear Light,
Reuben Wilson,
Peter and Kerry,
D'Angelo,
The Seeds,
Adolescents,
Minny Pops,
Susan Cadogan,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
MC5,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Robert Wyatt,
Spoonie Gee,
Junior Murvin,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
H. Thieme,
New York Dolls,
Jeru the Damaja,
Tropical Tobacco,
Ten City,
Dennis Brown,
Arab on Radar,
The Gun Club,
The Last Poets,
Bad Manners,
Banda Bassotti,
In Retrospect,
Silicon Teens,
Max Romeo,
The Five Americans,
Gregory Isaacs,
Erykah Badu,
Arthur Verocai,
Depeche Mode,
Grauzone,
the Human League,
The Smoke,
Absolute Body Control,
Vladislav Delay,
Main Source,
Sound Behaviour,
Frankie Knuckles,
Spandau Ballet,
Sex Pistols,
Franke,
Zapp, Zapp, Zapp, Zapp.
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.