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 Bangladesh and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the snare 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 Rites of Spring to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Fear. All the underground hits.
All Gastr Del Sol tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fort Wilson Riot record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Index,
Barrington Levy,
Magma,
Icehouse,
The Sound,
Severed Heads,
The Five Americans,
Jacob Miller,
Schoolly D,
Mandrill,
The Angels of Light,
Nas,
Minny Pops,
Lindisfarne,
Warsaw,
Bob Dylan,
Gong,
The Seeds,
David McCallum,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Kurtis Blow,
Monolake,
Sunsets and Hearts,
H. Thieme,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Iggy Pop,
Bush Tetras,
Pantaleimon,
Oneida,
the Slits,
Terry Callier,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Nils Olav,
The Blackbyrds,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Make Up,
Young Marble Giants,
Rufus Thomas,
Gang of Four,
Goldenarms,
Ultravox,
Supertramp,
Man Eating Sloth,
Laurel Aitken,
Arcadia,
Dark Day,
the Sonics,
Au Pairs,
Nico,
Donald Byrd,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Thompson Twins,
The Grass Roots,
Bobby Hutcherson,
X-101,
Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood.
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.