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 Tajikistan and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 John Coltrane to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Tom Boy. All the underground hits.
All Kerri Chandler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Blake Baxter record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Siglo XX,
The American Breed,
Connie Case,
Man Parrish,
Index,
The Monks,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Walker Brothers,
The Last Poets,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Harry Pussy,
June Days,
Rhythm & Sound,
FM Einheit,
Mary Jane Girls,
Sight & Sound,
Depeche Mode,
Grey Daturas,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Wally Richardson,
Public Image Ltd.,
Minny Pops,
Sparks,
the Bar-Kays,
Niagra,
Moby Grape,
U.S. Maple,
Scott Walker,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Ronnie Foster,
MC5,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Stooges,
Symarip,
The Trojans,
Ohio Players,
R.M.O.,
Godley & Creme,
London Community Gospel Choir,
In Retrospect,
The Evens,
Cybotron,
Andrew Hill,
Robert Wyatt,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Dead C,
Newcleus,
The Remains,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Make Up,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Mo-Dettes,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Move,
Ice-T,
New York Dolls, New York Dolls, New York Dolls, New York Dolls.
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.