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 Zambia and from Edmonton.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines to the dance 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 Lalann. All the underground hits.
All Richard Hell and the Voidoids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Colin Newman 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Magazine,
Idris Muhammad,
Sandy B,
Faraquet,
Byron Stingily,
Groovy Waters,
JFA,
Scientists,
Supertramp,
Blake Baxter,
The Martian,
The Electric Prunes,
Monolake,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Star Department,
Aloha Tigers,
Blossom Toes,
The Slackers,
Bootsy Collins,
Stereo Dub,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Shadows of Knight,
Matthew Halsall,
Harry Pussy,
Barry Ungar,
Lalo Schifrin,
Fad Gadget,
Khruangbin,
K-Klass,
H. Thieme,
Amon Düül II,
The Busters,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Ituana,
The Vogues,
Donny Hathaway,
Depeche Mode,
Ornette Coleman,
The Last Poets,
June of 44,
Symarip,
Vladislav Delay,
The Human League,
Can,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Offenders,
Pantaleimon,
Hoover,
Cameo,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Erykah Badu,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The American Breed,
Morten Harket,
This Heat,
Max Romeo,
The Music Machine,
Eli Mardock,
Josef K,
Minutemen,
The Fall,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch.
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.