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 Lesotho and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 oboe 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 Wally Richardson to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Lonnie Liston Smith. All the underground hits.
All Terror Squad Feat. Camron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Warsaw 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharoah Sanders record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Jeff Mills,
Kas Product,
The Durutti Column,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Bad Manners,
Dual Sessions,
Sexual Harrassment,
Crispian St. Peters,
Trumans Water,
The Alarm Clocks,
Thompson Twins,
Ronnie Foster,
Cymande,
Cluster,
FM Einheit,
Mission of Burma,
Avey Tare,
Spoonie Gee,
Moebius,
June of 44,
The Index,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Chrome,
Country Teasers,
Alton Ellis,
Nick Fraelich,
Buzzcocks,
Lyres,
Scientists,
June Days,
Popol Vuh,
Maurizio,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Ituana,
Ponytail,
Fugazi,
Minor Threat,
Eden Ahbez,
Main Source,
The Toasters,
Man Parrish,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Black Bananas,
Hashim,
Eve St. Jones,
Gastr Del Sol,
Joey Negro,
Steve Hackett,
Siglo XX,
Desert Stars,
Porter Ricks,
Ossler,
Second Layer,
Underground Resistance,
The Five Americans,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Standells,
The Black Dice,
B.T. Express,
Ten City, Ten City, Ten City, Ten City.
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.