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 Belgium and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Joe Smooth to the funk 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 Theoretical Girls. All the underground hits.
All Gang Gang Dance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobbi Humphrey record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fear record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Surgeon,
Wally Richardson,
The Dirtbombs,
Gastr Del Sol,
Mars,
These Immortal Souls,
The Fugs,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Monolake,
Rites of Spring,
The Skatalites,
Gang Gang Dance,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Ten City,
Arthur Verocai,
John Coltrane,
Ultimate Spinach,
James White and The Blacks,
Severed Heads,
Lower 48,
Althea and Donna,
Sister Nancy,
Neil Young,
Bobby Sherman,
Jimmy McGriff,
Man Eating Sloth,
Sandy B,
48th St. Collective,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Sonics,
UT,
the Sonics,
Peter and Kerry,
Little Man,
The Litter,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Lindisfarne,
Soul Sonic Force,
Kenny Larkin,
Marshall Jefferson,
Joyce Sims,
The Cure,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Saints,
Big Daddy Kane,
Alice Coltrane,
Pulsallama,
Underground Resistance,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
The Invisible,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Arcadia,
Liliput,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Gong,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Basic Channel,
Sight & Sound,
Infiniti,
F. McDonald,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Ituana, Ituana, Ituana, Ituana.
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.