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 Mauritania and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Bill Wells to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bobby Hutcherson. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ronnie Foster 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Five Americans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Slick Rick,
Arthur Verocai,
Kaleidoscope,
Sonic Youth,
Danielle Patucci,
John Lydon,
Gong,
Radio Birdman,
Pantytec,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Busters,
Brick,
Scion,
Drive Like Jehu,
Half Japanese,
Au Pairs,
Depeche Mode,
Mad Mike,
Toni Rubio,
The Flesh Eaters,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Smiths,
Gil Scott Heron,
Niagra,
The Moody Blues,
Anakelly,
Throbbing Gristle,
Gerry Rafferty,
Joensuu 1685,
Black Sheep,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Barracudas,
Lightning Bolt,
Pole,
The Selecter,
Yusef Lateef,
Maurizio,
New York Dolls,
Crime,
B.T. Express,
Cameo,
Easy Going,
Infiniti,
Surgeon,
Grauzone,
Rekid,
Audionom,
Circle Jerks,
Youth Brigade,
The Mojo Men,
Nils Olav,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Nas,
The United States of America,
David Bowie,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Brand Nubian,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bauhaus,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Cheater Slicks,
Unwound,
The Slits, The Slits, The Slits, The Slits.
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.