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 Kiribati and from Woodstock.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Blues Magoos to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. All the underground hits.
All Minny Pops tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Throbbing Gristle record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Todd Rundgren record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Animal Collective,
In Retrospect,
K-Klass,
Blake Baxter,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Pantaleimon,
The Gladiators,
Leonard Cohen,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Neon Judgement,
Scratch Acid,
Bobby Sherman,
Gil Scott Heron,
Monks,
Drive Like Jehu,
D'Angelo,
Faraquet,
Ultra Naté,
Dennis Brown,
Easy Going,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Electric Prunes,
June Days,
Radiopuhelimet,
Brick,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Barracudas,
Depeche Mode,
Robert Hood,
Piero Umiliani,
Banda Bassotti,
F. McDonald,
Marc Almond,
Inner City,
Albert Ayler,
Severed Heads,
Negative Approach,
Kevin Saunderson,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Bush Tetras,
Essential Logic,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Public Enemy,
The Standells,
The Monks,
Sister Nancy,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Sarah Menescal,
a-ha,
Das Ding,
Donny Hathaway,
Stereo Dub,
The Victims,
Audionom,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Trumans Water,
Bad Manners,
DJ Style,
Metal Thangz,
Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill.
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.