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 Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 the Swans to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Crooked Eye. All the underground hits.
All Todd Rundgren tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Golliwogs 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Judy Mowatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dorothy Ashby,
Fluxion,
Tres Demented,
The American Breed,
Jacob Miller,
Icehouse,
Yusef Lateef,
Tubeway Army,
Roxette,
John Lydon,
Gang Starr,
Black Moon,
Can,
Archie Shepp,
Suicide,
Traffic Nightmare,
Bobby Sherman,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sex Pistols,
the Association,
Arthur Verocai,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Andrew Hill,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Idris Muhammad,
Goldenarms,
Kas Product,
Faraquet,
Bobby Womack,
Albert Ayler,
Procol Harum,
X-102,
Grauzone,
Oneida,
Amazonics,
Liliput,
The Durutti Column,
Negative Approach,
Peter & Gordon,
Fear,
Ultra Naté,
Nils Olav,
Don Cherry,
Los Fastidios,
Kurtis Blow,
Fat Boys,
Prince Buster,
Sister Nancy,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Crispian St. Peters,
Scion,
The Selecter,
Black Sheep,
Donny Hathaway,
Peter and Kerry,
The Fall,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Fugs,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Smoke,
Qualms, Qualms, Qualms, Qualms.
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.