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 Togo and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Tim Buckley to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Kevin Saunderson. All the underground hits.
All Black Sheep tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rosa Yemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
June of 44,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Grey Daturas,
Guru Guru,
Little Man,
Peter and Kerry,
Kas Product,
Malaria!,
Eddi Front,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Ten City,
Brand Nubian,
The Standells,
Hasil Adkins,
Agitation Free,
Delta 5,
Don Cherry,
Model 500,
cv313,
Ituana,
Althea and Donna,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Bluetip,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Donald Byrd,
The Grass Roots,
The Knickerbockers,
Fela Kuti,
The Red Krayola,
Jeru the Damaja,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Sister Nancy,
Flash Fearless,
Symarip,
The Cowsills,
Ken Boothe,
Isaac Hayes,
Connie Case,
Ultravox,
Chris Corsano,
Black Bananas,
Schoolly D,
Al Stewart,
David McCallum,
The Misunderstood,
Crash Course in Science,
The Young Rascals,
Pussy Galore,
Henry Cow,
Roxy Music,
Dennis Brown,
Boredoms,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Black Flag,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Grandmaster Flash,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Raincoats,
MC5,
Can,
Zapp, Zapp, Zapp, Zapp.
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.