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 Afghanistan and from Beijing.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Walker Brothers to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Dawn Penn. All the underground hits.
All Masters at Work tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Doors,
Henry Cow,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Dawn Penn,
The Barracudas,
L. Decosne,
The Doobie Brothers,
D'Angelo,
DJ Style,
Black Flag,
Mo-Dettes,
The Searchers,
the Sonics,
Roxy Music,
Siglo XX,
Scratch Acid,
Gerry Rafferty,
The American Breed,
The Remains,
Deepchord,
Lyres,
Robert Wyatt,
Swans,
B.T. Express,
Sound Behaviour,
Pulsallama,
The Cure,
Massinfluence,
Roy Ayers,
Grey Daturas,
Black Moon,
Bang On A Can,
The Techniques,
Colin Newman,
Oneida,
Fear,
The Cowsills,
Reagan Youth,
Fad Gadget,
Interpol,
Aural Exciters,
Traffic Nightmare,
Kevin Saunderson,
Stiv Bators,
Cymande,
Nik Kershaw,
Joe Finger,
Glenn Branca,
Infiniti,
Morten Harket,
The Smiths,
Ponytail,
Gang Green,
The Angels of Light,
Moss Icon,
Gang of Four,
The Walker Brothers,
Eric Dolphy,
June Days,
Max Romeo,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
48th St. Collective,
Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel.
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.