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 Tunisia and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Milan.
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 organ 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 Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth to the techno 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 The Standells. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Hutcherson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Theoretical Girls 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eric B and Rakim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harpers Bizarre,
Suburban Knight,
Rites of Spring,
Kurtis Blow,
Audionom,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Qualms,
Nils Olav,
Swell Maps,
Sight & Sound,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Ronan,
CMW,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Associates,
Faust,
The Count Five,
ABBA,
Peter and Kerry,
The Skatalites,
Mission of Burma,
The Dirtbombs,
Sugar Minott,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Saints,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Severed Heads,
Gang Gang Dance,
Pantytec,
The Gun Club,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Michelle Simonal,
Matthew Halsall,
Man Parrish,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Marmalade,
Junior Murvin,
Unrelated Segments,
The Shadows of Knight,
Smog,
The Moleskins,
The Kinks,
Anthony Braxton,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Kerrie Biddell,
Throbbing Gristle,
Janne Schatter,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Theoretical Girls,
Sexual Harrassment,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Masters at Work,
Joy Division,
Soulsonic Force,
Saccharine Trust,
Loose Ends,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Wings,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.