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 South Africa and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Johannesburg.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 The Litter to the punk 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 Vainqueur. All the underground hits.
All The Electric Prunes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Camouflage record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Hot Snakes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
LL Cool J,
Underground Resistance,
Radiohead,
Joe Finger,
Scion,
Country Joe & The Fish,
This Heat,
Black Flag,
Barclay James Harvest,
Marcia Griffiths,
Little Man,
Y Pants,
Harry Pussy,
The Cramps,
Khruangbin,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Dirtbombs,
Das Ding,
Hasil Adkins,
Lower 48,
Soft Machine,
Eric Dolphy,
Guru Guru,
Eric Copeland,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Names,
Babytalk,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Alarm Clocks,
Loose Ends,
Alice Coltrane,
Arcadia,
Blake Baxter,
Pylon,
Lungfish,
Robert Görl,
Fear,
Siglo XX,
Severed Heads,
Bauhaus,
Danielle Patucci,
FM Einheit,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Smoke,
Archie Shepp,
Zero Boys,
Black Pus,
Essential Logic,
The Fuzztones,
The Young Rascals,
Desert Stars,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Easy Going,
Ronan,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Moleskins,
Fugazi,
Roger Hodgson,
Q65, Q65, Q65, Q65.
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.