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 Djibouti and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band to the punk 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 Depeche Mode. All the underground hits.
All Shuggie Otis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Angels of Light record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Youth Brigade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kerri Chandler,
Sun Ra,
Kurtis Blow,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Hot Snakes,
Jeru the Damaja,
James White and The Blacks,
Cymande,
Drexciya,
The Monks,
Ralphi Rosario,
Toni Rubio,
Jeff Lynne,
Matthew Halsall,
Rotary Connection,
Jawbox,
Rites of Spring,
Bobby Womack,
the Swans,
Yazoo,
48th St. Collective,
Crooked Eye,
Black Moon,
New York Dolls,
The Star Department,
Theoretical Girls,
Faust,
The Five Americans,
The Walker Brothers,
Eric B and Rakim,
Anakelly,
Hasil Adkins,
Jerry's Kids,
Ultimate Spinach,
Bluetip,
Scion,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Blossom Toes,
Barclay James Harvest,
Minor Threat,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Barracudas,
Harpers Bizarre,
Graham Central Station,
Whodini,
Desert Stars,
Kevin Saunderson,
Little Man,
Minnie Riperton,
Henry Cow,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Ultra Naté,
Rekid,
Erasure,
The Skatalites,
Prince Buster,
Massinfluence,
Chrome,
Warren Ellis,
Bill Wells, Bill Wells, Bill Wells, Bill Wells.
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.