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 Grenada and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 DJ Style to the grunge 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 Mary Jane Girls. All the underground hits.
All The Dave Clark Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ultimate Spinach 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Fania All-Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
Siglo XX,
Robert Görl,
Jeff Lynne,
Surgeon,
The Names,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Seeds,
Warsaw,
Deadbeat,
Aural Exciters,
The Moody Blues,
Ludus,
The Index,
Jeru the Damaja,
Wolf Eyes,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Warren Ellis,
The Music Machine,
Bluetip,
Neil Young,
Neu!,
Gong,
Pantytec,
Rites of Spring,
Quadrant,
Angry Samoans,
Black Pus,
Lindisfarne,
Johnny Osbourne,
Kool Moe Dee,
Ituana,
Davy DMX,
Jimmy McGriff,
A Certain Ratio,
Public Image Ltd.,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Joyce Sims,
the Slits,
Girls At Our Best!,
Crispian St. Peters,
Visage,
Glambeats Corp.,
Soft Cell,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lyres,
New York Dolls,
Black Sheep,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Blake Baxter,
Grandmaster Flash,
Joy Division,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Five Americans,
New Order,
the Germs, the Germs, the Germs, the Germs.
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.