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 Thailand and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the marimba 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 to the techno kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Young Rascals. All the underground hits.
All Gang of Four tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Skriet 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Music Machine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Don Cherry,
The Kinks,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
John Foxx,
Los Fastidios,
Donny Hathaway,
The Human League,
Cymande,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Mandrill,
Index,
KRS-One,
Kenny Larkin,
Trumans Water,
Accadde A,
Bauhaus,
Todd Rundgren,
The Smoke,
Bang On A Can,
Harry Pussy,
Prince Buster,
Stereo Dub,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Offenders,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Alice Coltrane,
The Neon Judgement,
Simply Red,
Siglo XX,
Letta Mbulu,
Television,
Big Daddy Kane,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Neil Young,
Lyres,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Pantytec,
Liliput,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
X-Ray Spex,
Von Mondo,
Blancmange,
Mission of Burma,
Rekid,
Pylon,
X-102,
Gichy Dan,
Kayak,
Ronan,
Ohio Players,
Underground Resistance,
Sex Pistols,
Robert Görl,
DJ Style,
The Vogues,
Gastr Del Sol,
Depeche Mode,
Albert Ayler,
Radiohead,
Pole,
Dawn Penn,
T. Rex,
Oblivians,
L. Decosne, L. Decosne, L. Decosne, L. Decosne.
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.