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 Morocco and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Blake Baxter to the dance 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 Joe Finger. All the underground hits.
All Pierre Henry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kenny Larkin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 spring reverb and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Graham Central Station,
The Golliwogs,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
48th St. Collective,
Vainqueur,
UT,
The Litter,
Crash Course in Science,
Massinfluence,
Sonny Sharrock,
F. McDonald,
Desert Stars,
Erykah Badu,
The Trojans,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The New Christs,
Aaron Thompson,
Skriet,
Pierre Henry,
Yusef Lateef,
Radio Birdman,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Urselle,
Cybotron,
Rapeman,
Delon & Dalcan,
Dave Gahan,
Little Man,
Cal Tjader,
Moby Grape,
Rosa Yemen,
Dawn Penn,
Hardrive,
X-Ray Spex,
Marcia Griffiths,
Big Daddy Kane,
Warsaw,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Leaves,
Arthur Verocai,
Lower 48,
Amazonics,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Slave,
Goldenarms,
Kenny Larkin,
Jeru the Damaja,
Jawbox,
Cecil Taylor,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Cure,
Cameo,
Shuggie Otis,
Black Bananas,
The Saints,
Alphaville,
The Searchers,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Gap Band,
Pantaleimon,
Echospace, Echospace, Echospace, Echospace.
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.