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 Uzbekistan and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock to the grime 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 Barracudas. All the underground hits.
All Can tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pierre Henry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marshall Jefferson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pantaleimon,
Bronski Beat,
Wally Richardson,
Electric Light Orchestra,
EPMD,
The Flesh Eaters,
Sex Pistols,
Theoretical Girls,
Joey Negro,
Skaos,
The Buckinghams,
X-102,
Letta Mbulu,
Half Japanese,
Severed Heads,
Ornette Coleman,
Sister Nancy,
The Smiths,
The Names,
Marshall Jefferson,
Black Sheep,
Whodini,
The Smoke,
Sexual Harrassment,
Jesper Dahlback,
Mr. Review,
Suicide,
The Golliwogs,
This Heat,
Al Stewart,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bobby Byrd,
The Standells,
Heaven 17,
Symarip,
The Techniques,
Agent Orange,
Bobby Womack,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Divine Comedy,
The Invisible,
Los Fastidios,
Underground Resistance,
The Blackbyrds,
Toni Rubio,
Aaron Thompson,
U.S. Maple,
Dennis Brown,
Kenny Larkin,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Brothers Johnson,
Sällskapet,
Rakim,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
the Bar-Kays,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Q and Not U,
Don Cherry,
K-Klass,
Deadbeat,
L. Decosne,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.