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 Cape Verde and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 synthesizer 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 The Chocolate Watch Band to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Audionom. All the underground hits.
All Teenage Jesus and the Jerks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Pretty Things 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Faust record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Grass Roots,
The Cowsills,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Severed Heads,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Music Machine,
Scan 7,
The Beau Brummels,
David Axelrod,
Sam Rivers,
Rod Modell,
Tubeway Army,
The Residents,
Smog,
Sarah Menescal,
Traffic Nightmare,
Sandy B,
Bootsy Collins,
the Normal,
Colin Newman,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Grauzone,
Lightning Bolt,
Lucky Dragons,
Lou Christie,
Fela Kuti,
Zero Boys,
Monolake,
Jimmy McGriff,
Kaleidoscope,
Q65,
Lower 48,
Robert Hood,
Henry Cow,
Roxy Music,
Mantronix,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Technova,
Barbara Tucker,
Pussy Galore,
Mad Mike,
Bobby Byrd,
K-Klass,
Harry Pussy,
Robert Wyatt,
The Associates,
Dawn Penn,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Throbbing Gristle,
Parry Music,
Scott Walker,
Pagans,
Ornette Coleman,
Pierre Henry,
Country Teasers,
Grey Daturas,
The Selecter, The Selecter, The Selecter, The Selecter.
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.