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 Pakistan and from Tehran.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ 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 Lucky Dragons to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry. All the underground hits.
All Amon Düül tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eric Copeland record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 organ and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The United States of America record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
KRS-One,
Supertramp,
Bluetip,
PIL,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Kevin Saunderson,
Swans,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Barrington Levy,
Eric B and Rakim,
Jeru the Damaja,
Second Layer,
Mary Jane Girls,
Pole,
Eli Mardock,
Rites of Spring,
Cybotron,
Lalann,
Bob Dylan,
The Doobie Brothers,
Lucky Dragons,
Jawbox,
Eden Ahbez,
Sister Nancy,
Tommy Roe,
Terrestrial Tones,
Tropical Tobacco,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Pulsallama,
The Buckinghams,
Scion,
DJ Style,
The Motions,
Q and Not U,
the Normal,
The Cramps,
Max Romeo,
The Gap Band,
Mark Hollis,
Yazoo,
Big Daddy Kane,
Aswad,
the Association,
Black Flag,
Ituana,
Dennis Brown,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bootsy Collins,
Newcleus,
the Swans,
Quando Quango,
Rekid,
Groovy Waters,
Mr. Review,
The Five Americans,
Bronski Beat,
Eve St. Jones,
James White and The Blacks,
The Mojo Men,
UT,
CMW,
Reuben Wilson,
Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas, Rufus Thomas.
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.