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 Turkmenistan and from Madrid.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Average White Band to the disco 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 Cecil Taylor. All the underground hits.
All Siouxsie and the Banshees tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jimmy McGriff record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 a sitar 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 chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Byrd,
The Searchers,
Dead Boys,
Severed Heads,
Gang Green,
Youth Brigade,
Arthur Verocai,
The Mummies,
the Bar-Kays,
The Martian,
AZ,
Laurel Aitken,
Main Source,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Make Up,
The Victims,
Underground Resistance,
Flipper,
Anakelly,
John Lydon,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Sandy B,
The Move,
Delta 5,
Jawbox,
H. Thieme,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Fat Boys,
Young Marble Giants,
Brand Nubian,
Monolake,
Slave,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Marvin Gaye,
Boz Scaggs,
Royal Trux,
Talk Talk,
Television,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Real Kids,
Fluxion,
Public Enemy,
Pantytec,
Suicide,
Neil Young,
Wally Richardson,
Pylon,
Kool Moe Dee,
Gerry Rafferty,
Chris & Cosey,
Arab on Radar,
The Fuzztones,
Anthony Braxton,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Shadows of Knight,
Lightning Bolt,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Tom Boy,
Buzzcocks,
Nation of Ulysses,
Dawn Penn,
Whodini,
Eden Ahbez, Eden Ahbez, Eden Ahbez, Eden Ahbez.
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.