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 Sweden and from Seoul.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Faust to the rap 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 Soulsonic Force. All the underground hits.
All Cal Tjader tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crooked Eye record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 marimba and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kurtis Blow,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Gun Club,
Isaac Hayes,
Scratch Acid,
H. Thieme,
Dark Day,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Jimmy McGriff,
Angry Samoans,
Sister Nancy,
Essential Logic,
Infiniti,
June of 44,
Model 500,
Reagan Youth,
Dave Gahan,
Shuggie Otis,
Radio Birdman,
Parry Music,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Blues Magoos,
Todd Terry,
cv313,
Ultimate Spinach,
Soul Sonic Force,
Siglo XX,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Panda Bear,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Oneida,
Depeche Mode,
The Star Department,
Wolf Eyes,
Neu!,
Mission of Burma,
Faraquet,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Peter & Gordon,
Yusef Lateef,
The Slackers,
E-Dancer,
Wasted Youth,
Sex Pistols,
The Barracudas,
Donald Byrd,
The Skatalites,
Carl Craig,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Scrapy,
Bizarre Inc.,
Drexciya,
Eric Dolphy,
AZ,
F. McDonald,
James White and The Blacks,
The Dave Clark Five,
Al Stewart,
Connie Case,
Rapeman,
The Slits,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Darondo,
Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Alice Coltrane.
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.