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 Sweden and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Mars to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Lindisfarne. All the underground hits.
All The Detroit Cobras 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 rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Detroit Cobras,
Big Daddy Kane,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Magma,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Moebius,
L. Decosne,
The Motions,
Black Bananas,
Gang of Four,
Yellowson,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Parry Music,
The Busters,
Minutemen,
T.S.O.L.,
The Young Rascals,
Johnny Osbourne,
Surgeon,
Jeff Lynne,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Severed Heads,
Zero Boys,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Stockholm Monsters,
Girls At Our Best!,
Inner City,
Barry Ungar,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Anthony Braxton,
Skaos,
Faraquet,
Brass Construction,
Eve St. Jones,
Eden Ahbez,
The Flesh Eaters,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Talk Talk,
the Bar-Kays,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Main Source,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Tremeloes,
Jimmy McGriff,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Thompson Twins,
Gang Starr,
Ultra Naté,
Duran Duran,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Roy Ayers,
Tommy Roe,
Piero Umiliani,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Avey Tare,
Traffic Nightmare,
Tres Demented,
Public Enemy,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Drive Like Jehu, Drive Like Jehu, Drive Like Jehu, Drive Like Jehu.
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.