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 Rwanda and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Man Parrish to the grime 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 Colin Newman. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wally Richardson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jerry Gold Smith record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Freddie Wadling,
Warsaw,
Mandrill,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Tubeway Army,
Prince Buster,
Fluxion,
Little Man,
Marcia Griffiths,
Marmalade,
Curtis Mayfield,
The American Breed,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Grey Daturas,
Goldenarms,
Technova,
The Litter,
Visage,
Jandek,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Mad Mike,
Godley & Creme,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Lebanon Hanover,
Nation of Ulysses,
Harpers Bizarre,
Monolake,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Wings,
The Doors,
The Divine Comedy,
The Misunderstood,
One Last Wish,
The Toasters,
Eden Ahbez,
Tomorrow,
Vainqueur,
the Bar-Kays,
Stockholm Monsters,
Peter & Gordon,
Moss Icon,
Angry Samoans,
Cameo,
ABC,
the Human League,
Black Moon,
Chris Corsano,
Masters at Work,
Nirvana,
Nas,
Skaos,
Gabor Szabo,
Moebius,
Reagan Youth,
The Black Dice,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Sarah Menescal,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Rotary Connection,
Dual Sessions,
Intrusion,
Kas Product, Kas Product, Kas Product, Kas Product.
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.