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 France 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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Crispian St. Peters to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Wolf Eyes. All the underground hits.
All The Detroit Cobras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeru the Damaja record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
Dorothy Ashby,
This Heat,
Make Up,
Rosa Yemen,
Desert Stars,
Gang Gang Dance,
Cal Tjader,
Barry Ungar,
The Misunderstood,
Sixth Finger,
Gil Scott Heron,
Symarip,
the Soft Cell,
Man Parrish,
Brick,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Joensuu 1685,
The Saints,
Harpers Bizarre,
Gang Green,
The Walker Brothers,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Bang On A Can,
Eli Mardock,
The Techniques,
Quantec,
Ohio Players,
Marmalade,
Q65,
the Sonics,
Ituana,
Pylon,
Eurythmics,
Mandrill,
Parry Music,
Visage,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Residents,
Heaven 17,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
cv313,
The Mojo Men,
Brothers Johnson,
Albert Ayler,
The Blackbyrds,
Massinfluence,
David McCallum,
The Moleskins,
Flipper,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Ultravox,
The Vogues,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
L. Decosne,
Black Pus,
The Offenders,
The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks.
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.