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 Laos and from Johannesburg.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Mighty Diamonds to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Lucky Dragons. All the underground hits.
All David McCallum tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terry Callier 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rites of Spring record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fad Gadget,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
T. Rex,
June of 44,
The Searchers,
Grauzone,
Wings,
The Doobie Brothers,
Boz Scaggs,
The Black Dice,
Icehouse,
Rotary Connection,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Wake,
the Fania All-Stars,
Donald Byrd,
Ten City,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Zero Boys,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Fire Engines,
Jeff Lynne,
Lalann,
AZ,
Deadbeat,
Sonic Youth,
Black Bananas,
H. Thieme,
These Immortal Souls,
The Skatalites,
Cecil Taylor,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Amazonics,
Duran Duran,
Robert Görl,
Sight & Sound,
Sandy B,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Letta Mbulu,
Yazoo,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Qualms,
Lou Reed,
The Pretty Things,
Spandau Ballet,
Marine Girls,
Roxy Music,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Groovy Waters,
MC5,
Tres Demented,
Soft Machine,
Bang On A Can,
Flamin' Groovies,
Saccharine Trust,
Sarah Menescal,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Cal Tjader,
Niagra,
Public Enemy, Public Enemy, Public Enemy, Public Enemy.
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.