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 Afghanistan and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Fall to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Birthday Party. All the underground hits.
All Roy Ayers Ubiquity tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dirtbombs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Iggy Pop record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jeff Mills,
Swell Maps,
Alton Ellis,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Detroit Cobras,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Neon Judgement,
John Coltrane,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Procol Harum,
Yusef Lateef,
Negative Approach,
Bootsy Collins,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Donald Byrd,
Lyres,
Roy Ayers,
Eve St. Jones,
The Pretty Things,
Jimmy McGriff,
Amazonics,
Moebius,
Agent Orange,
The Cramps,
The Smoke,
Bizarre Inc.,
Carl Craig,
The Knickerbockers,
Rod Modell,
H. Thieme,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Nick Fraelich,
Country Teasers,
The Buckinghams,
Theoretical Girls,
The Standells,
Don Cherry,
Bobby Womack,
Sonny Sharrock,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Idris Muhammad,
U.S. Maple,
Gastr Del Sol,
Cheater Slicks,
Angry Samoans,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Subhumans,
Bauhaus,
Warsaw,
June of 44,
Radio Birdman,
Sandy B,
The Techniques,
Althea and Donna,
The Blackbyrds,
Brick,
Fat Boys,
These Immortal Souls,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Jandek,
Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani.
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.