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 Malta and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1967 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Lafayette Afro Rock Band to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Fad Gadget. All the underground hits.
All Aloha Tigers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rufus Thomas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Shoche,
the Germs,
Mission of Burma,
Ultravox,
Kool Moe Dee,
DJ Sneak,
The Remains,
Radio Birdman,
Excepter,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Idris Muhammad,
Henry Cow,
Cal Tjader,
Section 25,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Last Poets,
Slick Rick,
Wasted Youth,
Model 500,
Ice-T,
Letta Mbulu,
KRS-One,
Mark Hollis,
Steve Hackett,
The Standells,
Brass Construction,
New York Dolls,
The Star Department,
Gang of Four,
June Days,
The Golliwogs,
Peter & Gordon,
Ornette Coleman,
Livin' Joy,
Andrew Hill,
Underground Resistance,
Sugar Minott,
Drive Like Jehu,
Donny Hathaway,
Soulsonic Force,
Rhythm & Sound,
Thompson Twins,
Ronnie Foster,
Warren Ellis,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Jeff Lynne,
The Misunderstood,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Angry Samoans,
the Swans,
Jawbox,
MDC,
Fugazi,
The Flesh Eaters,
Barbara Tucker,
Soft Machine,
These Immortal Souls,
Accadde A,
Traffic Nightmare,
Erasure, Erasure, Erasure, Erasure.
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.