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 Honduras and from Bremen.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Echospace to the rock kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 The Slits. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Flesh Eaters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
Judy Mowatt,
Cymande,
The J.B.'s,
Eric Copeland,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Royal Trux,
The Last Poets,
The Music Machine,
Deakin,
Gerry Rafferty,
L. Decosne,
Stiv Bators,
The Happenings,
Half Japanese,
Derrick May,
Make Up,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Flamin' Groovies,
8 Eyed Spy,
Leonard Cohen,
Andrew Hill,
Aloha Tigers,
Monks,
Amazonics,
Das Ding,
The Alarm Clocks,
Black Moon,
The Evens,
Cheater Slicks,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Grandmaster Flash,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
DJ Sneak,
the Normal,
Maurizio,
Johnny Clarke,
The Moody Blues,
Simply Red,
Ossler,
Sam Rivers,
Gabor Szabo,
Niagra,
Inner City,
Aaron Thompson,
Sonny Sharrock,
Roxy Music,
This Heat,
Excepter,
Man Eating Sloth,
Radiopuhelimet,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Beasts of Bourbon,
H. Thieme,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Urselle,
Gang Starr,
Freddie Wadling,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy.
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.