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 Georgia and from Beijing.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 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 In Retrospect to the jazz 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 Harry Pussy. All the underground hits.
All Fela Kuti tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Music Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wally Richardson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tropical Tobacco,
Soulsonic Force,
Derrick May,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Crooked Eye,
Gang Gang Dance,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kaleidoscope,
Oneida,
Monks,
The Fall,
Michelle Simonal,
Con Funk Shun,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Gap Band,
Accadde A,
Hot Snakes,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Marine Girls,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Shuggie Otis,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Gregory Isaacs,
Kerri Chandler,
Surgeon,
Eric B and Rakim,
ABC,
The Fire Engines,
Chrome,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Soft Machine,
Blossom Toes,
Eric Copeland,
Bill Near,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Music Machine,
Public Enemy,
The Smiths,
Marshall Jefferson,
Arthur Verocai,
Guru Guru,
Liliput,
The Zeros,
Little Man,
Dorothy Ashby,
Animal Collective,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Evens,
Jacob Miller,
John Foxx,
Leonard Cohen,
F. McDonald,
The Skatalites,
Mary Jane Girls,
Zero Boys,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Knickerbockers,
The Buckinghams,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.