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 Honduras and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 The Dave Clark Five to the crunk 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 Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish. All the underground hits.
All Scratch Acid tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Absolute Body Control record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pere Ubu record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Doobie Brothers,
Harry Pussy,
Arthur Verocai,
Minutemen,
T.S.O.L.,
Franke,
Stereo Dub,
Siglo XX,
48th St. Collective,
Chris Corsano,
Quantec,
Susan Cadogan,
Lucky Dragons,
Trumans Water,
The Golliwogs,
Fatback Band,
Derrick Morgan,
Amazonics,
Barclay James Harvest,
Crooked Eye,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Pet Shop Boys,
Barry Ungar,
Hashim,
Dawn Penn,
Porter Ricks,
Public Image Ltd.,
Symarip,
Girls At Our Best!,
Fat Boys,
Crispian St. Peters,
Tropical Tobacco,
Mr. Review,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Busters,
Motorama,
Skarface,
Soft Machine,
Magazine,
D'Angelo,
Lower 48,
Jimmy McGriff,
Robert Hood,
The Moody Blues,
Minor Threat,
The Fuzztones,
Theoretical Girls,
Faust,
ABBA,
Fugazi,
Y Pants,
Stockholm Monsters,
Black Moon,
Cluster,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Popol Vuh,
The Red Krayola,
Skaos,
the Normal,
Kool Moe Dee,
Can,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.