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 Montenegro and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Doobie Brothers to the dance 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 Sister Nancy. All the underground hits.
All Jerry's Kids 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 crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cameo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
The Neon Judgement,
The Black Dice,
Minnie Riperton,
The Count Five,
One Last Wish,
Essential Logic,
Skarface,
Soul Sonic Force,
Whodini,
Carl Craig,
Marine Girls,
Hoover,
Roxy Music,
The Flesh Eaters,
Wolf Eyes,
Porter Ricks,
Dual Sessions,
The Zeros,
The Residents,
Girls At Our Best!,
FM Einheit,
Alice Coltrane,
Qualms,
The Golliwogs,
The Dirtbombs,
Eddi Front,
The Smiths,
The Seeds,
Bronski Beat,
Shuggie Otis,
Joyce Sims,
Unrelated Segments,
Radio Birdman,
Alphaville,
Davy DMX,
Sex Pistols,
Lalann,
Matthew Halsall,
Yusef Lateef,
Pagans,
Jimmy McGriff,
Zapp,
The Durutti Column,
Radiohead,
The Detroit Cobras,
Mr. Review,
Sonny Sharrock,
Swell Maps,
Second Layer,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
UT,
Jawbox,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Bobby Sherman,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Vladislav Delay,
Simply Red,
Terry Callier,
The Trojans,
the Slits,
the Sonics,
Icehouse,
Sparks, Sparks, Sparks, Sparks.
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.