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 St Kitts & Nevis and from New York.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Cecil Taylor 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 Harry Pussy. All the underground hits.
All Anthony Braxton tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Los Fastidios record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James Chance & The Contortions record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sonics,
Laurel Aitken,
Intrusion,
Joyce Sims,
Cluster,
ABBA,
Technova,
The Martian,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Kinks,
Al Stewart,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Max Romeo,
Tim Buckley,
Scientists,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Jacques Brel,
Ituana,
Organ,
Marc Almond,
Bill Near,
Prince Buster,
Bauhaus,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Pulsallama,
Tom Boy,
Robert Görl,
Au Pairs,
Spoonie Gee,
Surgeon,
Idris Muhammad,
The Blues Magoos,
DJ Sneak,
Index,
David Axelrod,
MDC,
Bush Tetras,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Ornette Coleman,
Crispian St. Peters,
Aural Exciters,
The Alarm Clocks,
Eric Copeland,
Thee Headcoats,
Man Eating Sloth,
Youth Brigade,
Barbara Tucker,
Massinfluence,
Talk Talk,
Pharoah Sanders,
Joy Division,
Crispy Ambulance,
Absolute Body Control,
Sandy B,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Trojans,
Tubeway Army,
Henry Cow,
Wolf Eyes,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review.
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.