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 Cuba and from Columbus.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Seoul.
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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Minor Threat. All the underground hits.
All Boredoms tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Anakelly record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Moon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fatback Band,
John Lydon,
Aswad,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Neil Young,
Dark Day,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Buzzcocks,
Cluster,
Sixth Finger,
Tres Demented,
Clear Light,
The Trojans,
Y Pants,
Lungfish,
Amon Düül II,
Pagans,
Scientists,
Animal Collective,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Khruangbin,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Darondo,
T. Rex,
Negative Approach,
Soul Sonic Force,
Aural Exciters,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Rotary Connection,
The Slits,
Robert Görl,
Con Funk Shun,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Joe Finger,
Pylon,
Minnie Riperton,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
James White and The Blacks,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Porter Ricks,
Ituana,
Nation of Ulysses,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Marmalade,
F. McDonald,
Neu!,
The Detroit Cobras,
Eric B and Rakim,
The American Breed,
New Order,
The Knickerbockers,
Accadde A,
Theoretical Girls,
Symarip,
The Monochrome Set,
Stockholm Monsters,
Audionom,
Yellowson,
The Martian,
The Happenings,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Doors,
The Wake, The Wake, The Wake, The Wake.
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.