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 Estonia and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the marimba 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 Jeff Mills to the grunge 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 Livin' Joy. All the underground hits.
All Ornette Coleman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Liaisons Dangereuses 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
H. Thieme,
Bad Manners,
Rosa Yemen,
Eve St. Jones,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sexual Harrassment,
Amon Düül,
The Mojo Men,
Make Up,
Fela Kuti,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Wire,
Das Ding,
Suburban Knight,
Harry Pussy,
Hot Snakes,
The Five Americans,
Metal Thangz,
Technova,
The Stooges,
Boz Scaggs,
Dark Day,
Dawn Penn,
The Buckinghams,
The Smoke,
Pantytec,
Skaos,
Heaven 17,
Unrelated Segments,
Magazine,
Wings,
Yusef Lateef,
Nirvana,
The Grass Roots,
Fatback Band,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Guru Guru,
These Immortal Souls,
New Age Steppers,
Donny Hathaway,
Theoretical Girls,
Aural Exciters,
the Fania All-Stars,
LL Cool J,
Robert Görl,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
This Heat,
The Red Krayola,
Kas Product,
R.M.O.,
Swell Maps,
Black Flag,
Outsiders,
New York Dolls,
The Dirtbombs,
B.T. Express,
Accadde A,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Sparks,
Q and Not U,
Trumans Water,
Graham Central Station,
Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia.
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.