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 Russia and from Paris.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the organ 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 Severed Heads to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Traffic Nightmare. All the underground hits.
All X-102 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Hutcherson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terror Squad Feat. Camron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dorothy Ashby,
Tres Demented,
Radio Birdman,
Bootsy Collins,
Barry Ungar,
X-Ray Spex,
Pantytec,
Black Bananas,
Black Pus,
Pharoah Sanders,
Livin' Joy,
Max Romeo,
Mantronix,
John Holt,
DJ Style,
Erykah Badu,
Thee Headcoats,
Jacob Miller,
Nation of Ulysses,
Jerry's Kids,
Gang of Four,
Unrelated Segments,
The Busters,
Ultra Naté,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Hasil Adkins,
Matthew Halsall,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Aural Exciters,
Lee Hazlewood,
Second Layer,
Joy Division,
Joensuu 1685,
Cymande,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Minor Threat,
Davy DMX,
Yellowson,
Das Ding,
Little Man,
Can,
Nick Fraelich,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Smoke,
Peter & Gordon,
The Moleskins,
Maleditus Sound,
The Cowsills,
Sight & Sound,
Adolescents,
Dark Day,
A Certain Ratio,
Lindisfarne,
Shuggie Otis,
Minnie Riperton,
Altered Images,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Crooked Eye,
B.T. Express,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks.
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.