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 Burundi and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron 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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar 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 Sparks to the jazz kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Blues Magoos. All the underground hits.
All Lungfish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bizarre Inc. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 guitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sam Rivers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Terrestrial Tones,
Hoover,
Don Cherry,
The Invisible,
Chris & Cosey,
Jeff Lynne,
The Dirtbombs,
Lower 48,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Gladiators,
Gang Green,
The Fire Engines,
Mission of Burma,
Aural Exciters,
Colin Newman,
The Flesh Eaters,
8 Eyed Spy,
Gang Starr,
Wire,
Cal Tjader,
The Last Poets,
This Heat,
Joyce Sims,
The Misunderstood,
Jesper Dahlback,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Beau Brummels,
Grandmaster Flash,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Technova,
Robert Görl,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Al Stewart,
Eric Copeland,
Black Moon,
June Days,
The Alarm Clocks,
Terry Callier,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Cymande,
Depeche Mode,
Panda Bear,
Drexciya,
Wasted Youth,
The Human League,
Yellowson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Pagans,
The Moody Blues,
Inner City,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Velvet Underground,
Lakeside,
the Fania All-Stars,
Andrew Hill,
Lucky Dragons,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Adolescents,
the Soft Cell,
Moby Grape,
Johnny Osbourne, Johnny Osbourne, Johnny Osbourne, Johnny Osbourne.
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.