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 Latvia and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Nik Kershaw to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Tommy Roe. All the underground hits.
All Siglo XX tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Trumans Water record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Malaria!,
Erykah Badu,
Chris & Cosey,
Motorama,
Au Pairs,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Jawbox,
Frankie Knuckles,
Lou Reed,
Cecil Taylor,
Magazine,
The Music Machine,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Cure,
Wolf Eyes,
Boz Scaggs,
Swans,
Traffic Nightmare,
Guru Guru,
Roxy Music,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Scan 7,
Roy Ayers,
Arthur Verocai,
Arcadia,
Liliput,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Five Americans,
Gichy Dan,
Jacques Brel,
Pylon,
Scott Walker,
Rakim,
Soft Cell,
Soul II Soul,
Rites of Spring,
JFA,
The Buckinghams,
Ponytail,
Jeru the Damaja,
Pussy Galore,
Marmalade,
Judy Mowatt,
The Monochrome Set,
The Index,
Index,
Minny Pops,
Kaleidoscope,
New York Dolls,
Dead Boys,
Siglo XX,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Vladislav Delay,
The Sonics,
Jerry's Kids,
Cluster,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Aural Exciters,
Amon Düül,
David Axelrod,
Gastr Del Sol,
Con Funk Shun,
The Pop Group, The Pop Group, The Pop Group, The Pop Group.
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.