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 Maldives and from Paris.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Mumbai.
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 spring reverb 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 Electric Prunes to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All Dennis Brown tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Almond record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
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 Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Ultra Naté,
Goldenarms,
David McCallum,
the Normal,
FM Einheit,
Rotary Connection,
the Germs,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Harpers Bizarre,
Con Funk Shun,
The Detroit Cobras,
Moss Icon,
Jandek,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Absolute Body Control,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Qualms,
The Sonics,
Infiniti,
Tubeway Army,
the Fania All-Stars,
Kenny Larkin,
Minor Threat,
Alison Limerick,
The Dirtbombs,
Arthur Verocai,
Stiv Bators,
Davy DMX,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Mojo Men,
Chris & Cosey,
E-Dancer,
The Index,
Sexual Harrassment,
Terrestrial Tones,
Brand Nubian,
Eurythmics,
Rapeman,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Niagra,
Anthony Braxton,
T. Rex,
Laurel Aitken,
The Gun Club,
Brick,
Black Moon,
Glenn Branca,
Pierre Henry,
Thee Headcoats,
DJ Style,
JFA,
The Zeros,
Youth Brigade,
Joe Finger,
Cal Tjader,
Nico,
Pylon,
Spandau Ballet,
Fear, Fear, Fear, Fear.
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.