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 Laos and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Man Eating Sloth to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 American Breed. All the underground hits.
All Lee Hazlewood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Don Cherry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 sitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lou Reed & Metallica record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobbi Humphrey,
Scratch Acid,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Chrome,
Kerrie Biddell,
Rhythm & Sound,
Gabor Szabo,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Malaria!,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Arcadia,
New York Dolls,
Bobby Byrd,
Symarip,
Lindisfarne,
Rites of Spring,
Brand Nubian,
Accadde A,
EPMD,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
R.M.O.,
Joy Division,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
John Lydon,
Infiniti,
New Age Steppers,
JFA,
Roger Hodgson,
Niagra,
Graham Central Station,
Con Funk Shun,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
These Immortal Souls,
Aaron Thompson,
Sonic Youth,
U.S. Maple,
Theoretical Girls,
Soft Machine,
Quadrant,
The Red Krayola,
Sällskapet,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
David McCallum,
Marmalade,
Livin' Joy,
Sonny Sharrock,
the Association,
The Names,
Yazoo,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Von Mondo,
Metal Thangz,
Anakelly,
Delon & Dalcan,
Basic Channel,
Crispian St. Peters,
Goldenarms,
Mantronix,
Cymande, Cymande, Cymande, Cymande.
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.